


Chairs

by somethingaboutamoose



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military, Angst, Eric joins the Air Force, Humor, M/M, Realistic, Romance, a walkthrough of the process of joining the military, but with the possibly of smut in later chapters, currently T, this might change ratings later on, who even knows anymore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 17:37:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 27,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7517296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingaboutamoose/pseuds/somethingaboutamoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eric Bittle has grown up around the military. His father was established in the Army, so no one was surprised when Eric decided to join as well. They just weren't expecting Eric to choose the Air Force instead. </p><p>Taken through the processing of joining, Eric's life is changed, for the better. He learns new traditions, is exposed to a culture he never knew existed, sits in chairs, meets new friends, and falls in love. After all, it's the military, what could go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys. This story is very loosely based on my own experiences in the Air Force. I've changed a few things here and there, but it could basically be my diary, just with Check, Please features thrown in. That being said, I have yet to experience everything there is to know about this. Eric will be learning as I learn.

345th Training Squadron, Samwell Air Force Base, San Antonio, Texas

“KEEP GOING!”

Bitty’s limbs were pounding, screaming, telling him, _No! Stop!,_ seriously contradicting the voice from the outside. He pushed himself up on his hands, straightened his elbows and took deep, shaky breaths. He stared at a stain on the cement floor. He had no idea how many push-ups he had done so far, but he knew. He couldn’t do it. He. Could not. Do it.

His MTI, his instructor and mentor for the past weeks, kept screaming, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING? YOU THINK THIS IS A GAME? COME ON!”

No, if this was a game, Bitty was done. If this was a game, Bitty wanted to stop playing. So, he took a deep breath and,

“I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU-”

Bitty let himself fall onto the ground, tears filling his eyes as his MTI, who was so loud moments ago, fell silent.

“Holy Hell--”

“Did Bitty just--”

“Fucking--”

“...Bitty.”


	2. 0100

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go. Hope you enjoy military humor (don't worry, you don't have to be in the military to understand. I'm in the military and I don't get half of their jokes)

Several months earlier, Atlanta, Georgia

No one was really surprised when Eric Bittle joined the military. Yes, in the back of everyone’s heads, they thought that maybe the boy was too small, too soft to succeed in such an environment. But with Eric’s father currently holding the title of Sergeant First Class (which could basically be described as ‘way up there’), and living so close to the Army base that Eric called it home, anyone who was doubtful had reasons not to be. Eric always made friends with the kids who came through the base, lived there for a little while, and then moved to the next deployment. He had mixed feelings about staying in the same spot his entire life.

 

Eric’s mother, on the other hand, was happy to stay in one place. When Eric was a baby, apparently they had been stationed from base to base, hoping to find somewhere they could call home. When Eric turned four, Georgia was that place.

 

So no, people weren’t shocked when Eric decided to join. What raised eyebrows is when Eric announced that he was joining the _Air Force_.

 

Now, all branches are honorable and we love all of our active duty, reservists, guard, and veterans equally, yadda yadda. There is, however, somewhat of a tier within the branches. Think of it as...uhm...high school sports.

 

The Army is the basketball team. Everyone knows about them, every school has one. It’s the oldest and most well known high school sport. Basketball is a popular game, people play it for fun, but only the handful of the best players gets to be on the team. And don’t they know it.

 

The Marine Corps, well, they are the football team. They are the toughest and the grinders and they aren’t afraid to let you know it. They will come to your school to recruit with nothing but their pamphlets and a pull-up bar to show you that they aren’t playing around.

 

You would think that the Navy is the swim team, but it’s more like the track and cross country team. It covers it’s own kind of sport that is somewhat separated from the others, but still vitally important. The only problem is, well, have you ever met a runner? All they want to talk about is running and how _amazing_ it is, even if you already told them that you prefer a light stroll.

 

Oh, and then there’s the Coast Guard, who are like those people who jump really high with those poles. You know them? Their whole existence is just, ‘oh wow, cool, but why exactly are you here?’.

 

Then the Air Force.

 

The Air Force is kinda like…

 

Like the hockey team of the branches.

 

Similar to the Navy (but not too similar), the Air Force covers an entirety of a world. Hockey is a sport that is different, you need special skills in order to be a part. But hockey and the Air Force have something very distinctive in similar.

 

They are often quite overlooked.

 

Hockey is mainly a Canadian sport, but can be very popular in _certain_ parts of the USA. Most of the time, although, it’s dumbed down to a silly (and even brushed off as simple) sport where people on ice shoes fight over a Oreo. When in actuality hockey is intense and often violent.

 

You may be thinking, okay, hockey, overlooked? Sure, hockey often doesn’t even get school funding, but the Air Force? The entire branch of the SKY? How could that be? Well, just know that by other branches, the Air Force is often referred to as the-

 

“ _The Chair Force?!”_ Eric’s father yelled, “You are joining the _Chair Force_? Why not the Army?”

 

Eric shrugged and picked at his fingers. He was sitting down in the living room, telling his parents the news of the branch he had decided on, “I think it has better options for me, sir. I’ll be doing the Reserves too, so I can go to college while I’m serving.”

 

“The Air Force Reserves. That hardly counts as military service, son.”

 

“Honey, now you stop that,” Eric’s mother lightly tapped her husband on the shoulder, then turned to her son, “Dicky, sweetie, I think that’s a wonderful choice. It’s a exceptional start to a successful life.”

 

Eric smiled, “Thanks, Mom.”

 

Sergeant Bittle uncrossed his arms, “Your mother is right, we are proud of you, Eric. I was simply...taken off guard. We will do everything we can you help you go through this. If there is anything you need, ask.”

 

“Actually, I haven’t even talked to a recruiter yet…” Eric admitted shyly. 

 

Eric’s father smiled, “Well, good thing I happen to know the best Air Force recruiter in Georgia.”

 

 

The best Air Force recruiter in Georgia happened to be a woman named Georgia Martin. Georgia was highly regarded in the military, Eric could tell, but she never once acted like it.  

 

The first meeting went something like this,

 

After have been given strict order to not sign anything unless his father was there, Eric and his mother walked into the office, which was a small building that was connected to a Chinese restaurant and a nail salon in an outdoor strip mall. Very ow key.

 

They walked in to see Master Sergeant Georgia Martin, who stood up and shook both their hands before sitting back down at her desk. Eric and his mother found the chairs in front of it. Sergeant Martin and Mrs. Bittle talked for a little while, catching up on life until Sergeant Martin remembered why they were there.

 

“So, Eric,” Sergeant Martin smiled kindly, “What made you choose the Air Force Reserves?” 

 

Eric was sitting on his hands, and back slouched. He knew how he appeared, but for some reason, he was too nervous to care. For all his life, he has been surrounded by the military, but now, sitting in front of a recruiter, he was scared to join.

 

“Well, ma’am” he started, “I think it would be the best branch to join, since I’m wanting to attend college as well. And, if I’m being honest, ma’am, it might be the easiest branch to do that with and get the benefits. Since, you know…”

 

Sergeant Martin broke a smile as Eric’s mother tapped his shoulder, “ _Now Dicky_ , what ever happened to ‘serving your country?’”

 

“No, no,” Sergeant Martin grinned, “Thank you for being honest. People hardly join the military for that anymore. Although yes, that is a factor, they usually initially do because, hey, it’s a job, right? Gotta get money somehow.”

 

Eric smiled at her. Right.

 

“Now, if you will keep up that honesty for me, I’m going to ask you a few questions.”

 

Sergeant Martin went on to see if Eric was tentatively qualified. She asked his age (18), if he was is an United States citizen (born and raised),and if he has a high school GED (just got it). She asked about his past health issues, which were none. Well, except for when he broke his arm in the 5th grade, but promised it didn’t bother him anymore. Then, Sergeant Martin asked if he had any past criminal records, any tickets, any discipline in school. Eric said no to almost every question and was starting to feel like he had left an unsurprisingly boring life.

 

“That’s wonderful, really gets a lot of extra trouble out of the way. Now, if you could quickly come into the back to get your weight and height, and we can keep talking.”

 

Eric nodded, harmless enough. He followed the recruiter to another, smaller room in the back with some tables that a lot of Air Force brand supplies. Air Force backpacks, Air Force notebooks, Air Force hats. Everything you could think up of that one could slap on the symbol, the pair of ‘Arnold wings’ outlining a star with a circle inside, they did.

 

As Eric took off his jacket and shoes, Sergeant Martin said, “Your dad is a big shot in the Army, huh?”

 

“Yep,” Eric said, “My whole family is Army orientated. You can imagine their surprise.”

 

She smiled, “That I can.”

 

Eric stepped onto the scale.

 

Sergeant Martin whistled.

 

Now, Eric had never been too concerned with his outwardly appearance. He was never too big or too small. Sure, he was the shortest boy in all of his classes and was sometimes picked on. It never hindered him from doing what he wanted.

 

“You are itty bitty, aren’t ya?” Sergeant Martin said.

 

“What?”

 

“It should be fine, you are exactly at the weight minimum line. Don’t be going on any diet any time soon.”

 

“Oh. Okay.” Eric said, stepping off the scale.

 

He forgot, the military has physical guidelines. How could he forget? His father had basically tried to raise him to reach those lines. Eric’s body simply wasn’t built like that.

 

“So, I’ll be okay? I know I’m small…” Eric asked Sergeant Martin as they turned back to the first room.

 

“You should be,” Sergeant Martin smiled, “I’ll recheck the requirements, but like I said, as long as you don’t lose any weight, you should be fine.”

 

Eric gave her a small smile and then shuffled around the desk, back into his seat.

 

“Looks like you are tentatively qualified, next up you'll sign some papers to get the process rolling.”

 

Neither Eric nor his mother said anything. His mother stared at Eric as he stared at a suddenly interesting spot on his shoes.

 

Sergeant Martin caught the tension, “But not today. Listen,” Eric looked up at her, “this is a big choice, and no one can make this decision for you. I’m gonna give you some time, think it over. Research some colleges, some programs, think about it. If you still want to join, give me a call.”

 

Sergeant Martin slides over her card with her number on it. Eric smiles up, genuinely, and takes it, “Thank you, ma’am, I will.”

 

And he did. Eric spent the his time listening to music, thinking about it. He worked his job at the ice rink, thinking about it. He practiced skating, thinking about it. He laid awake at night, thinking about it. He did research about it, he watched vlogs about people who decided to join as well.

 

It felt like there was something missing. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t decide whether to go or not. Instead, it was more like he was trying to find the big moment where he officially decided. But it wasn’t like that. He simply knew that he was going to join, as if the choice had already been made for him. Eric hated that feeling. It felt right, but it felt like it wasn’t his.

 

So Eric delayed calling Sergeant Martin back.  He didn’t want to sign the papers and then get the opposite feeling he was looking for, the feeling that this was a mistake.

 

Instead, Eric spent his time thinking. When he searched for colleges, he thought about it. There was an amazing school where he could go on scholarship for being in the military, and that’s not even including the G.I. Bill; money for education from the Air Force. It all seemed to make sense.

 

He still stalled. His parents asked him time and time again about it. Each time he simply said, “I’m still not sure.”

 

What was he waiting for? Should he go to college first? No, then he had lost all those benefits. He was going to take a gap year anyway, why not make use of it? What was he waiting for?

 

A little over a week after, Eric found himself running on the track on the base, listening to his music when-

 

“HEY TINY, MOVE OVER!”

 

Eric halted, and a group of boys run past him. He knew these boys, some of them went to his high school, what were they doing here?

 

Oh. Obviously.

 

One of them huffed at him, “Get in uniform or get out.”

 

So Eric did. Both, that is.

 

On the way out, Eric called Georgia Martin, he had her number saved in his phone for a while now. They scheduled a meeting with both of his parents. They talked it over, about the benefits, how it would work with schooling as well.

 

“See, with the Reserves, you only work two days out of the month. You’ll work for a weekend, and then go back home. You do that every month, and then you’ll come in for two weeks out of the year for more training, but that’s usually in the summer. Of course, you’ll always have the chance of getting deployed.” Sergeant Martin explained.

 

“And that’s a four year contract?” Eric’s father asked.

 

“Active duty is four,” Sergeant Martin explained, “Reserves is six.”

 

Six years. He would be out by the time he’s 24 years old.

 

They talked a while more, Sergeant Martin repeats often, ‘are you sure?’, ‘this is a big choice’, ‘make sure it’s your own’, but Eric repeated just as often, ‘I know,’.

 

When it came time to sign the papers, Sergeant Martin asked, “What made you call me, if I may ask? It took a little while.”

 

Eric shrugged, “I realized that the Army base wasn’t my home. That I needed to find my own. I’ve lived near there almost all my life and I’ve been beginning to think that it was mine, but it’s not.”

 

Eric could feel his dad tense next to him. Eric tried not to react as he signed the papers and handed them to Sergeant Martin.

 

“That’s a nice sentiment,” she said, “But the process is far from over. You still need to go to MEPS before you can swear in.”

 

“MEPS?”

 

Eric’s father explained, “Military Entrance Processing Station. Basically the most extensive medical checkup you’ll ever have.”

 

Sergeant Martin smiled, “Pretty much and, oh,” She reached to the side of her desk and slid over an giant stack of papers, “You’ll also need this security check packet filled out before you go. Might want to memorize your Social Security number now. I’ll email you once I have a date for when you go to MEPS. Welcome to the military, Eric.”

 


	3. 0200

Eric didn’t think he could sign his name or write his SSN again for the rest of his life. Eventually, he finished the god forsaken packet (Yes, I have family, here is all their information. No, I have never been married. Yes, I did go to school, here is all that information. No, I have never been a part of a secret drug cartel) and he received a date to go to MEPS.

 

“What will happen,” Sergeant Martin explained over the phone, “is that you will drive to Atlanta and stay in a hotel Monday night. You’ll stay the night there with the rest of the new recruits. Some will be leaving for Basic, some will be there their first time, like you. In the morning, they will walk you over to the building. It’s run by the Army, but you will meet people from every branch there. They will go over everything medical. You’ll get your vision checked, hearing, blood drawn. Pretty much anything you can think of, they’ll check it. You should be home by 1500, that’s 3:00pm.”

 

Eric knew that, he’s had his phone set to military time his entire life, although not by choice, “Do I need to bring anything?”

 

“Just things that you will need for night time, and a change of clothes for the next day. Make sure they are appropriate. Also, I have one other recruit going on the same day that you are, so if you need to, the two of you could ride together.”

 

“Oh, my folks will insist on driving me, if it’s not to talk my ear off the whole time.”

 

Sergeant Martin laughed, “I understand, you’ll most likely meet him while you’re there, his name is Jack.”

 

“Sounds good.”

 

“You bet. Be sure to get there on time. Like I said, it’s Army ran, those people can be a bit strict.”

 

Eric chuckled, “Don’t worry, I know all about that.”

  
  
  


Turns out, Eric did, in fact, not know all about that. At least, as of now. He hadn’t even gotten into the actual medical process yet. He had just arrived at the hotel, said goodbye to his parents and Sergeant Martin, and was sent into a room on the fifth floor.

 

The hotel was nice, really nice. Eric hadn’t been to a hotel this luxurious...ever. They were in the heart of Atlanta, so it was expected.

 

‘They’ as in him and the other recruit. The other recruit who was tall, stone-faced, and robust. They didn’t talk. Not when they checked in and got their room keys, not when they rode up in the elevator, and not when they sat down at a table in room 503.

 

Instead, in that room, a middle-aged lady talked. She pensively told them the rules, and the consequences. Which went a little like,

 

Don’t do this or,

 

“You will be sent home and not be allowed to continue with your military career,”

 

Don’t do that or,

 

“You will be sent home and not be allowed to continue with your military career,”

 

And don’t you even think about doing this or,

 

“You will be immediately investigated, not be allowed to continue with your military career and perhaps sent to prison, any questions?” She said, arms folded.

 

“No, ma’am.” They said in unison.

 

It was the two of them, and then a few other recruits around the table. Not anyone who looked very confident after the harsh run-down the woman had given.

 

A few papers were passed around and, sadly, Eric was forced to write his name again. Passing them back, the woman began near-shouting again, explaining what will happen tomorrow, when they need to be there, and what the consequences will be if they aren’t on time.

 

Now, Eric didn’t want to say that he was, uh, sensitive, but he always did have a...quirk about people yelling at him. Nothing to awful, his mind kind of blanks whenever people raise their voices to him.

 

That being said, Eric forgot to actually turn in his forms while he was leaving.

 

He didn’t notice that until he had walked all the way to his room, on the eighth floor. He fumbled with the key, before he realized that it was unlocked. His roommate was already here.

 

Eric held his breath as he walked in. Who would it be? A giant, godlike Marine? Someone from the Army who would continue to ridicule Eric for his choice and small stature? He wasn’t sure if he really wanted to find out.

 

The room was lovely. It had a living space, a bathroom and two large beds. Eric felt lucky enough to have a room with a window, facing the bustling, glowing city. And turns out, he also got the bed by the window too.

 

His roommate had taken a space on the near bed, all of his things already set up at the foot.

 

His roommate who, once Eric set his backpack down on his bed for the night, walked out of the bathroom.

 

Now, he wasn’t built like a common solider. Saying which, he wasn’t huge. But, instead, he was built like a model for a sports magazine.

 

Okay, he had really great abs, okay? End of story, point blank. He was beautiful.

 

He walked out in only a towel, holding it up with his hands, giving Eric almost a full view. When he saw Eric, however, he strolled towards him and held out his hand.

 

As Eric swallowed whatever lump was in his throat and accepted the gesture, the man said, “Hey, you must be my roommate, I’m Johnson.”

 

“Eric, or Bittle. Since, you know, everyone goes by last names around here,” Eric chuckled unintelligibly. “So, uhm, is this your first time?”

 

Johnson, still shaking Eric’s hand, shrugged, “Depends on your definition of ‘first time’. Really, thinking about it, I’ve never actually been here before. Like, _I_ haven’t, but I also have. I haven’t been _anywhere_ , you know? I go where the story takes me. Where it needs me.”

 

“What?”

 

“And in this case, the story requires me to say, yes. I have been here before. I’m shipping out tomorrow.”

 

Eric nodded, but did not understand, “Oh! Uhm, cool! To Basic Training?”

 

“Yup,” Johnson fell silent, still holding on to Eric’s hand. There was a long pause, he stopped shaking, but both of them stood awkwardly. After a few seconds, Johnson pulled Eric close and whispered in his ear, “You’re supposed to ask which branch I’m in.”

 

Eric tugged his hand back, took a step away from the strange man and chuckled nervously, “Oh, uh, what branch are you in?”

 

Johnson reached his arms over his head, stretching and showing off those fabulous abs, “Army National Guard. You know, if you believe in that kind of stuff.”

 

“What? The Army?”

 

Johnson shook his head, “No, my friend, the branches. Who’s to say where the military stops and where it begins? Is the military a tree? If it is a tree, what kind of tree is it? A dogwood? A weeping willow. Actually, if you think of it, it’s probably that tree from Harry Potter! Do we have Harry Potter in this universe?”

 

Eric chimed in, “Uhh, I think I’m going down to dinner. Don’t wanna be late. And, oh man, I think I was supposed to turn these papers in,” Eric was suddenly afraid of approaching the woman in the room so he asked, “Are-are you joining?”

 

Johnson adjusted his towel, “Nah, you have things you need to do, people you need to meet and form relationships with. I’m gonna take a shower.”

 

“Didn’t you...just take a shower?”

 

“It’s all apart of the plot, my friend. And plots often have inconsistencies, and I am no longer relevant.”

 

“Okay…”

 

The conversation (if you could call that a conversation) dropped. Eric grabs his phone, papers, and room key. Johnson, poking his head out of the bathroom, suddenly said,

 

“Wait, before you go, know this,”

 

“Yeah?”

 

Johnson, expressionless, looked away from Eric and instead, stared straight forward. As if he is looking directly into something, (all Eric saw was the wall) Johnson said, “Everyone has different experiences. Everyone has different knowledge of things, and sometimes, we simply have to guess. THIS IS A BASED OFF A PERSONAL EXPERIENCE. YOU WEREN’T THERE. YOU DON’T KNOW ME. YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT I’VE BEEN THROUGH.”

 

“Ha. Ha, ha,” Eric was frightened, “Ooookay, I’m gonna get going now.”

 

As he closed the door behind him, he hears Johnson call out, “Later, Bitty! Oh shit, wait, not yet-”

 

The door slammed shut and Eric takes a moment to regain himself. He hopes no one else here was like that. He hoped no one else in the world was like that.

 

He flipped through the papers in his hand. He took a breath. Back to floor five.

  



	4. 0300

When he walked back into the room, he realized how cool it was. It was bigger than the rest of the rooms, almost like an apartment. It had a kitchen that only held a table, and counter with a mini fridge and a rack of snacks. It had a living room, with a couch, a TV, and a desk where the woman from earlier sat. There were two rooms, one with a ping pong and foosball table, and the other with a giant TV, a PS4, and two couches. Eric supposed everyone was in their rooms or dinner, because there were only two people besides the woman, and they were both playing...was that Call of Duty? Oh, how did he not see that coming.

He approached the woman, slowly, as trying to calm a wild beast.

“Uh-” He began, smoothly, “Excuse me, ma’am?”

She looked up from her phone, “Mm?”

“I,” Eric held out his papers, “I took these to my room on accident. I think you need them?”

She leaned over and Eric prepared for the worst. Then, she took the papers from his hand, and smiled.

“Oh, yep!” She set them in a pile on her desk, “Got to have those, do you need anything else?”

Eric was honestly shocked, she was actually...pleasant. He decided to push his luck,  
“Are we allowed to take the snacks out of the room?” He gestured to the pile of chips on the rack.

She nodded and laughed, “Please do, they keep ordering us stuff, we have a whole cabinet of them. All these freaking healthy kids coming through here. They won’t know what they’ll miss!”

Eric laughed with her, thanked her, and took her advice. He walked over to the rack and began surveying the options. He didn’t realize how hungry he was. He should probably get some dinner before it closes, can’t eat chips all night.

As he grabbed a bag, he turned to head downstairs and he nearly ran into someone.

This someone was an awfully small girl with Asian features. She somehow looked more intimidating than the older woman.

She looked him up and down, and then said, “Are you going to dinner?”

He replied, “Yeah?”

“Cool,” She said, turning to the door, “I’ll go with you.”

And with that, he had a friend. They walked all the way down to the first floor (and yes, walked. Eric wanted to take the elevator, but she said that she had to keep up her fitness. Eric suddenly felt bad for the bag of chips he was eating on the way down) and then to the small restaurant. It was an elegant place, but it looked better than it actually was.

“Wow,” Eric said, “They gave us a menu and it literally only has four things on it.”

“I know,” replied the girl, “I’m looking at it too.”

Eric realized that he still didn’t know her name, so he asked. She answered, “Larissa Duan. My friends call me Lardo.”

“They do?”

“They do. What’s your name?”

He said, “Eric Bittle. My friends call me Eric.”

“Stylish.” Lardo said. The waiter came by and asked what they wanted.

It was between chicken fettuccine alfredo, a hamburger, chicken tenders, and a salad. Eric wasn’t even sure what kind of restaurant this was supposed to be, probably one that were forced to give military kids free food, so he did what was safe. He ordered the chicken tenders.

As they ordered, someone walked in alone. This someone had dark hair, was well-built, and wore an Air Force hat. Eric wanted to hide. 

Lardo caught him staring, “You know him?”

“Yeah, yeah. We kind of came together?”

Lardo shrugged, “He’s cute,” then she waved him over.

He looked lost and alone, so he followed the simple command. He sat next to Lardo, in the furthest seat away from Eric. Eric didn’t know whether or not to take offense to that, so he chose not to.

“What’s your name?” Lardo asked.

“Jack Zimmermann,” the waiter quickly came by giving out drinks and asking what Jack wanted to drink. To which he responded, “Water.”

The waiter also took his food order and then whisked away, leaving the three of them to themselves.

Very professionally, Jack asked, “What are your names and branches?”

“Eric, Air Force Reserves.”

“Lardo. I’m gonna be a Marine.”

Holy shit. Eric said, “Really? Marines?”

Lardo huffed, “Got a problem with that?”

Eric put his hands up, “No! Nope, no problem, you’ll,” he grinned, “you’ll do great.”

Lardo smiled and dare I say blushed, “Thanks. I-I know I’m small. No one back home thinks I can do it either. But that’s exactly why I’m going to.”

“That’s admirable,” Jack said, smiling faintly. So faintly, Eric had to actually squint to see it, “I’m Air Force Reserves too," he gestured to his hat, "for now.”

Eric took a sip of his drink, “Planning on going Active Duty?”

Whatever inch of happiness was on Jack’s face melted as he said stoically, “I’m going to be an General.”

And with that, their food came. They talked back and forth. Mostly about what’ll be happening tomorrow. Lardo was shipping out to go to Basic Training in the morning, so she gave the boys the summary of everything that would happen. The way she said it, it didn’t seem to scary.

After they ate, they all went up to their rooms. Eric spent the rest of the night laying around his bed, playing on his phone, texting his friends back home, and listening to his roommate watch hockey teams play. Occasionally, he would look at Eric and comment about how he wish he knew how horribly ironic this whole situation was.

Eric tried to ignore him and focus on getting ready for the day in front of him.

Eventually, he was able to get some sleep, staring out the window at the slow movement of the city at night. The lights, the sound of the highway. It calmed him, and he slept soundly.

Until, of course, six hours later at 4:00am in the morning when he had to wake up.

Johnson hopped out of bed enthusiastically, and skipped over to shake Eric out of bed, “Come on, Bits! Time for some character development.”


	5. 0400

Eric dragged himself out of bed. He hated waking up early. He liked _being_ up early. He was always a morning person, eager to greet the sun and start the day. It was just getting passed the whole ‘waking’ business that he didn’t like.

 

Johnson, on the other hand, oh ho ho, was he a morning person. He started bouncing around the second the alarm blared, talking his nonsense all the way down to breakfast.

 

Back at the restaurant from last night, breakfast was loaded. Everyone who was there for MEPS was down at once. And that was a lot of people. Eric and Johnson got there early because, you know, Johnson, so they had decent seats. They were also able to save chairs for Jack and Lardo, after Johnson insisted that they do. Eric learned quickly that Lardo was not a morning person. At all. Johnson kept talking through the meal, but Lardo wasn’t having any of it. She shushed him early on in his rant, but he simply shook his head and smiled.

 

Soon, breakfast was over and they were sent to sit in the lobby. He felt safe in the presence of people he knew, even if it was only for a little while. They chatted lightly here and there until someone came out and gathered them all together. He began calling out names and instructed them to start a line out the door. Having his last name start with a ‘B’, Eric was in the front of the line. He was also relieved with Lardo wasn’t but a few people behind him.

 

As the line grew, Eric looked up and down it, pondering over the people. They were different, size, age, ethnicity, but in a way, they all looked similar. Each one of them wore the same nervous expression. Of unfamiliarity and anxiety. Eric somehow felt comfortable knowing that he wasn’t the most fearful person in the room.

 

Jack Zimmermann was the last person in line. After he was called, the worker came to the front of the line and ordered them to followed him. They walked outside and down the block. It was still dark, looked the same as when Eric went to sleep. The city was buzzing silently with activity. Instead of the loud, attention hogging panic of the waking day, the morning held a calmer attitude. He took a breath and then looked to the architecture in front of him. He remembered all the things Lardo said would happen. After this, he would know whether or not he would be fit to join the military.

 

It was going to be a long day.

 

When they reached the building, they were all stopped right after the front door. Before them held a very extensive security check. They all stood in two lines, and shuffled on through. They were given strict directions by the security guards. Not hard to follow, but still made Eric nervous to mess them up.

 

He was told to make his way to the tenth floor of the building, but he stalled for a moment, tying his shoe, in order to wait for Lardo.

 

“Those guys are so touchy,” Lardo said, shrugging her backpack on her shoulders again.

 

Eric agreed and they made their way upstairs. He remembered the orders they were given, to go straight to their own offices, there would be one for each branch. The pair waited in the elevator silently together. It wasn't awkward, just silent. After a few levels passed, they reached their destination. 

 

“This is me.” Lardo said, standing in a turn of the hallway, “If you keep going straight, you’ll pass the Army offices and hit the Air Force. It was nice meeting you, Eric.”

 

“You too. Do you think I’ll see you again?” Eric asked.

 

Lardo shrugged, “I’ll be sitting in a chair for a little while before the bus comes to pick us all up. Unless, of course, I don’t make it this time,” her voice haltered.

 

Eric put his hand on her shoulder, “You’ll do amazing. Next time I see you, you’ll be in uniform.”

 

Lardo grinned, “Thanks, Eric. Good luck. Don’t let these guys get the best of you.”

 

With that, Lardo shuffled into the room and Eric was left alone.

 

He followed Lardo’s directions and walked down the hall. He passed the Army offices and did not like what he heard. Whoever was running it was having a bad day, they were screaming at the recruits, telling them to sit down and shut up. Everyone walking in looked shell shocked while Eric picked up his pace.

 

He got to the Air Force section, and stopped in front of the door. He shoved his hands in his pockets, not ready for what was to happen next.

 

And...nothing did. Everyone there was sitting at a desk, completely peaceful. They didn’t even notice that Eric walked in, as he had to approach them himself.

 

“Excuse me?” Eric began, “I’m here for uhm,” Why was he here again?

 

The desk worker adjusted his glasses, “Oh hey! What’s your name?” He got out a binder and started flipping through it.

 

“Eric Bittle,” Eric added, “sir.”

 

“Alrighty,” The man found a page, and gave Eric some papers and two stickers, “Put those on your chest,” he instructed.

 

Eric did so. One had his name and branch, the other was an visitor's pass. 

 

“Okay, so what you need to do now,” The man said. Eric was half paying attention. He was distracted by the man’s uniform. The man had a symbol sewed on his sleeves, a chevron with four stripes. Eric had seen this before, but had no idea what it meant, “is go to the lobby. There is a desk up front and they will sign you in. Leave your stuff here, but bring your social security card and ID, sound good?”

 

Eric nodded, and put his bag in the corner. He turned his phone off and put it in one of the pockets. They already gave him the threatening speech of what would happen if he got caught with his phone. He knew he wouldn't be tweeting anything today. At least, not until it was over. 

 

The men in the office wished him goodbye and good luck as he walked out the door. Also as he did, he ran into what felt like a wall.

 

Wall wasn’t precisely the correct term. What looked down instead was Jack Zimmermann, glaring at him.

 

“Oops!” Eric said with a smile, “Sorry!"

 

Jack glowered and puffed his chest, “Watch where you’re going.”

 

Without another word, he moved past Eric and into the room.

 

Okay then, thought Eric. Maybe he’s nervous. That must be it.

 

As he walked to the desk, he rethought everyone he met so far. Every person seemed to be pretty nice. Even the people he greeted in passing. He just had to let them warm up to him. Eric was a friendly person.

 

“Move your finger,” growled the man working the desk, currently taking Eric’s fingerprint, “Left.”

 

Eric did so and couldn’t help but feel like criminal. Well, now the military officially had every scrap of his information. Not that they didn’t before, but this time he gave it up voluntarily.

 

Eric then was transferred down a hallway to a section of the building that was oh-so-similar to the front. The only difference was he had to wait behind a line before walking in the door.

 

So he did. He waited. Once he got to the front of the line, he got a good look of what was going on.

 

There was the big desk, with the finger scanners like the first room. There was also a set of chairs, facing a TV, like the first room. The difference was that this part was a bit crowded. People rushing back and forth. There were two blood pressure monitors on the wall where the television was. On either side of the room were hallways leading away. It seemed like a maze from where Eric was standing.

 

They called him up next. He did nearly the same thing that he did in the first room, except this time the scanner wasn’t working. He kept attempting but it wasn’t taking it.

 

Suddenly, a pot-bellied man came up to him and grabbed his hand and twisted his wrist left. Eric almost called out in surprise, until the man said, “There, it worked then, didn’t it?”

 

The person behind the desk nodded and waved Eric off.

 

The man didn’t, however, and instructed Eric to sit down in a chair by the blood pressure machine.

 

He then started taking his blood pressure while handing him a form. It looked like a checklist. Eric began reading through it and actually realizing how many things were going to happen today. And happen fast. It was six am now, so he only had four hours to get everything done. Was that even possible?

 

Eric was brought back to reality when the man said, “Whoa, kid, you need to calm down. Look at your heart rate.”

 

Eric did. And it was 110 beats per minute. His blood pressure was fine but wow. He really did need to calm down. Maybe this whole overthinking thing wasn’t good for him.

 

The man took his pulse again. Eric breathed. In and out. He thought back at home, and how it was only a few hours. Soon he’ll be able go to his house, hug Señor Bunny, skate a little bit. It wasn’t set in stone yet. He could always say no.

 

“Better,” The man took Eric’s checklist from him, marked a few things down and then gave him more instructions, “Go down the first hall and have a seat in front of the audio room. On the left side.”

 

And so he did. He took two tests in that hallway alone. A hearing test (oh god he hated those beeps) and a vision test. During the wait for the vision test, he watched a few people get shouted at because they were on the wrong side of the wall. Eric was thankful for his helper.

 

A lot of the new recruits talked to Eric. They all seemed very friendly and eager to make conversation, even if was just to pass the time. Every conversation started the same, asking what his branch was. After repeating the answer so many time, he had begun to accept it as his own. That was a good feeling.

 

As everyone knows, good feelings are usually matched with bad feelings. The bad feeling being Jack caught up with him pretty quickly. There were a lot of boys here, but since they were both the only Air Force Reserve, they kind of had to stick together. Eric went to a bunch of stations, and met a whole lot of new people, but Jack Zimmermann was always a couple steps behind. Which was mostly fine. They all had to pee in a cup while being watched, and Jack was there behind him in line (Eric couldn’t imagine being a girl and doing this), they had to get their blood drawn, and Jack was in the chair beside him. They waited in a chair for nearly half an hour to talk to a doctor individually, and Jack sat in the chair in front of him. Simply listening, arms crossed, as Eric chatted with everyone around them. He met a few Navy recruits, chatted with some Army newbies who knew who his dad was, everyone was lighthearted and kind. Except for Jack.

 

He tried not to take it personally. Like he said before. Maybe he’s just nervous.

 

Eric knew he was nervous when the doctor called him in.

 

But...all in all, it went smoothly. The doctor looked over Eric’s form and talked about a few things from his past. Luckily, Eric had no real health problems, so there wasn’t much to discuss and then Eric was on his way.

 

Eric sat in the chairs in the first room for a very long time, watching the TV, chatting with people. He was getting a bit tired of just sitting in chairs all day. He thought the whole military process would be more active. At least the chairs here were cushioned. Looking around, he realized that the place was calmer, had less people. Then he remembered it was because all the people who were shipping to Basic Training had left. He felt a small heartache, knowing he may never see Lardo (and you know, Johnson) ever again, but he was also proud of his new friends as well.

 

After about 15 minutes of waiting, he saw Jack come by, pot-bellied man not falling far behind him.

 

They sat down at the blood pressure device. Jack sat down in a chair and took a heavy breath. The man started the machine up.

 

Eric watched as Jack closed his eyes and leaned back, taking deep breathes as the machine beeped. Eric watched his chest rise and fall in a calming, natural motion. He watched every moment he made. He saw his eyelids flutter, his lips move as he breathed out, slowly, Eric unintentionally counted the seconds as Jack breathed. 

 

Eric also saw how Jack's fist was coiled shut, forcing the veins in his hand to rise and the muscles in his arm to flex.

 

The beeper went off on the machine, and Eric watched Jack’s eyes snap open, as he looked up to see the result.

 

Eric’s own heart leaped out of his chest. 140 beats per minute. Eric was no doctor, but he knew for a fact that was NOT good. He watched Jack’s face fall. Not the unmoving expression of earlier of but true fear and worry.

 

The man tapped the machine with his pencil, as if willing it to change.

 

“We’ll try again after.” The man said, “Try to calm down, alright?”

 

Jack nodded and then followed the man’s instruction to sit down in the chair, next to Eric.

 

Great.

 

The silence lasted a while longer. Eric felt...weird. He had the feeling that he saw something that he shouldn’t have. He convinced himself that he had nothing else to do but watch. He wasn’t exactly eavesdropping, Jack had been sitting right in front of him!

 

Maybe it was fine to watch, but maybe not to...watch like he did. Maybe not to...feel what he did. Should he worry for someone who wouldn't give him the time of day?

 

Moral thinking was thrown out the window. The man tapped on his clipboard with his pencil and commanded the five boys who were sitting in the chairs to follow him into a room off to the side. When they walked through the door, they saw that the room was just an open space, there was nothing in the room at all. Except two doors that led to two different rooms.

 

Their adviser brought them into the room on the far wall. Inside there was what looked like a classroom. There were desks and a chalkboard. The only thing that was out of place was that there were also a set of stalls, as if there was a bathroom in the classroom. Eric was concerned of where this was going.

 

And he had good reason to be, since the next thing the man said was, “Strip your clothes. Yeah, yeah, all of em, except leave your underwear on. We don’t need to see that yet. Come on out when you are ready. Leave everything in here.”

 

Oh god.

 

So.

 

If you couldn’t tell by now.

 

Eric had a type.

 

That type just happened to be standing in the room.

 

And listen, Eric doesn’t like to be a stereotype. No, just because he’s gay doesn’t mean he wants to sleep with every guys he meets.

 

This guy...is different.

 

Or at least that what Eric tells himself as he is suddenly standing nearly naked in a line with four other boys.

 

Welcome to the military.

 

The adviser and a doctor come in. They tell the boys to do a series of things that Eric thinks makes them look _ridiculous_. Such as touching their toes, standing on one foot, duck walking across the room. Those kind of things.

 

After that nightmare, God thought it wasn’t enough. The adviser gave them all a paper gown and told them to go back, take off their underwear and put on the gown.

 

Eric was an only child. He had unlimited amounts of privacy. That being said, Eric thought that he was a pretty open and not at all prude person. This, however, seemed to cross some kind of line.

 

Yet, Eric did not refuse. What he did was find his own little spot in the corner of the room and changed, attempting to mind his own business and trust that the other boys, whom he didn’t know the names of but seemed to have gotten quite close with, wouldn’t look over. He thought about going into the stalls, but as no one else was, he didn't want the one guy that does.

 

He tried his best to tie the gown all the way around in the back, not showing his privates, to the best of his ability. Then he turned around and,

 

Oh my.

 

Most of the boys had walked outside by now, shuffling awkwardly in their gowns that didn’t leave much to the imagination.

 

But boy oh boy.

 

Jack,

 

Seemed to be trying Eric’s strategy of going to a corner to change, but was not quite performing it to perfection. Eric, uhm, supposed that either Jack had thought he was alone in the room or was used to undressing in front of others because, well.

 

Jack was standing, stark naked, facing the corner, fumbling with unfolding his gown. Eric didn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t bring any attention to himself because he could not imagine the consequences of Jack noticing Eric’s gaze.

 

And okay, yeah, Eric felt bad, but in the moment. All that he could think of was that Jack had a, uhm, _desirable_ sized ass and that, maybe, he just turned a _little_ bit to the left, Eric could-

 

Nope! Nope, nope, nada.

 

Eric grabbed the ends of his gown and held them as tightly together as possible and made his way out of the room, going to stand against the wall with the other boys.

 

They were waiting in line to go to the second room with the doctor for a private checkup. And according to the marks on his checklist, Eric wasn’t sure if he would like it.

 

As they waited, some of the boys asked the adviser about his life, why he was here. Eric tried really hard to pay attention, but once Jack walked out in his paper gown, Eric, for some strange reason, couldn’t quite do so. The only thing he heard was that the man’s last name was Politte, which he thought was nice to know.

 

Eventually the time came and it was Eric’s turn. He realized that after this, people were getting ready to go home. Eric wished that he had gone first.

 

In the room, it was almost exactly like a regular checkup with his doctor, which comforted Eric. The doctor checked him over, asked him a few questions. the one thing he did that Eric thought was different was to check to see if his ears popped when he held his nose and blew. Which apparently they only did to Air Force recruits. It was over fast, and then Eric was on his way.

 

He went to the back room to change. After that, he collected all his things and walked to Politte.

 

Politte went over his sheet, checking more things off. Once finished, he sent Eric to the original doctor for final touches.

 

This was it. This was it. This one person would decide whether or not Eric would be in the military.

 

His leg shook waiting.

 

His leg shook when he got into the office.

 

The doctor sat at his desk, review Eric’s sheets for what seemed the thousandth time.

 

Finally he looked up, “Looks like you are qualified. Take this to the front desk, and then to your branch's office. Since you are Reserves, you won’t swear in here, but your recruiter’s office. Good luck.”

 

Eric did that, he did that with a grin on his face. No matter what happened, no matter how harsh they were as the finger scanner wouldn’t work again, he made it. He made it. Nothing could bring him down.

 

Well, ‘nothing’ was a big word

 

He saw Jack, sitting at the blood pressure machine. Again.

 

He watched him, lean back and breathe. Again and again. In and out.

 

Eric wanted to watch, watch what would happen. Eric knew Jack could be disqualified for having his heart rate too high. Eric wanted to walk over and help him calm down. To talk nice things to him, hold his hand. Eric didn’t know why, but he wanted to help.

 

Instead, Eric walked away. He walked away to the branch’s office. There was one last thing he had to do.

 

“Alright, Bittle, you ready?” The man in uniform said.

 

“As ever,” Eric grinned.

 

Eric walked over to the weight machine. He could do this. This was the last step.

 

What is was that Eric had to do was see how much weight he could lift over his head. He walked over to the machine and squatted down.

 

“Let’s start with 50,” The man said, “Sound good?”

 

Eric nodded, and then did it. Easy enough.

 

“Nice,” said the man, “Let’s move up to 60. Oh hey, Georgia.”

 

Eric looked over to see that Sergeant Martin had walked in.

 

She grinned, “Hey itty bitty, I had to come in for this part.”

 

Eric smiled at her and then faced the machine.

 

60, 70, 80 pounds later, Eric was still pumping. At this point, all the Air Force office workers were standing next to him, yelling praise.

 

“Come on, keep going!”

 

“You can do it!”

 

“Let’s go, itty bitty!”

 

So Eric did. At 100 pounds, Eric didn’t realize he had this strength.

 

“Okay, Bitty, 140 pounds! That’s way over your own body weight, you got this?” The man asked.

 

Eric took a drink of the water they had handed to him, “I got this.”

 

Eric tried, he really tried. With everyone rooting for him, he wanted to keep going, he really did. He just couldn’t get the weight past the line, and he decided 140lbs was enough.

 

He thought that the people around him would be disappointed, but they weren’t. They cheered and patted him on the back.

 

Sergeant Martin grinned, “Good job, Bitty!”

 

Eric shrugged. Bitty. He kind of liked that.

 

“Now come on, let’s grab your stuff and get out of here. We have a lot to talk about.”

 

Bitty went over and slung his backpack on his shoulder. It may have been the adrenaline of the mini workout, but he was feeling really good. He felt like he could do anything, that nothing could stand in his way. Whatever trials lay ahead of him, he could crush with ease.

 

Oh boy was he wrong.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is as long as the MEPS process feels. Pretty long. Hope you all enjoyed it, I'll post another chapter a bit later this week.


	6. 0500

Sergeant Martin slapped four pieces of paper on the desk in front of Bitty, laid out in a row.

 

As Bitty leaned over to read them, Sergeant Martin explained, “These are all the jobs that you are qualified for that are available for the Base that you would be assigned to. They take the results from your physical, how much weight you lifted, and your ASVAB scores.”

 

“That’s the test I took at school in December, right?” Bitty asked. He remembered being signed up to take another standardized test last year. With all the ACTs, SATs, and AP tests, Bitty wasn’t thrilled to have to take an extra one.

 

“Yup,” She popped the ‘p’ sound, “Well, take a look. You can take what time you need, but I wouldn’t take too long if possible. These jobs might be taken off the charts at anytime.”

 

Bitty read through them. Bitty wasn’t really sure what he wanted to do when he got older. He never had an end goal. You could imagine how those last few months of high school were, everyone always asking what his plans were and him always answering the same. He had none. Now he was choosing the job he would have for the next 6 years of his life, and he still had no idea what he was interested in. The most terrifying part was that he only had four choices.

 

The jobs in front of him were: Broadcast Journalist, Emergency Management, Services, and Medical Material. Bitty started to pick the ones he didn’t want for sure first. Services was simply managing the base operations. Supervising the kitchen, fitness centers, and what not. Bitty thought that seemed easy, but too easy. If he was enlisting in the _Chairforce_ , he might as well have a decent job.

 

Emergency Management probably was off the table too. That may have been not _easy enough_ , Bitty thought about how he would only be working this job one weekend a month, did he really want a job that was stress-filled if he would only work 16 hours a month?

 

So it was between Medical Material and Broadcast Journalist. He wasn’t sure how keen he was on doing a Medical job, but it matter since the latter drew his eye. Bitty watched a lot of vloggers in his free time, and he always was interested in having one himself. This job could be perfect for him.

 

No, it wasn’t _vlogging_ , it was reporting, broadcasts, announcements. It was close enough. It was _intriguing,_ and with the situation he was in, that’s all he could really ask for.

 

“See anything you like?” Sergeant Martin asked.

 

Bitty nodded and slid the paper towards her, “This one.”

 

Sergeant Martin looked over it, “Good choice. Here, now let’s hope there are some Basic Training dates for it.”

 

Bitty nodded and waited. Sergeant Martin took some time, looking through her computer before turning back with a grin and writing down on the paper, “So you will go to Basic Training before you go to technical school, where they will train you for this job. Once you complete all of that, you’ll come home and start working weekends.”

 

“Okay,” Bitty said, leaning forward. “When are the dates?”

 

“The nearest tech school dates are October 30th, that’s when you’ll start school.” She said.

 

Okay, Bitty thought, that’s not too bad. It’s late May now, so he has some time.

 

“So you’ll leave for Basic, uhh,” She checked her computer again, “August 29th.”

 

Okay, Bitty thought, maybe not.

 

That. That would be cutting it close. In two months time, Bitty would be shipping to complete the most intense training in his life. God, he wasn’t even close to ready now, would he be by then?

 

Georgia seemed to notice his tension, “Do you want to take this home? Maybe talk to your parents?”

 

Bitty looked up, “No,” He knew that they would take over, make this choice theirs. And remember? This was his choice, no one could make it for him, “I’m gonna choose this one.”

 

She smiled, “Alright then. I’ll hold your spot and let you know when I get confirmation. Until, we can work on scheduling a swear-in ceremony for you.”

 

“What will we do then?” Bitty asked.

 

“You’ll finish signing some papers,” Sergeant Martin laughed at Bitty’s exaggerated groan, “and then my friend, Master Sergeant Stephen will come in and swear you in, for real. You can invite whoever you want to, it’s like a little ceremony.”

 

“Oh, cool,” Bitty said. Then, they figured out a date that would work for all of them and Bitty was on his way.

 

 

  


“Okay, first thing you need to know,” His friend, Sam, nearly yelled, “Do not lock your knees!”

 

Bitty was at Sam’s house, petting a spotted rabbit who took to chewing on his shoelaces, “Yeah, I know. You’ve told me a thousand times.”

 

“I’ll tell you again, don’t lock your knees! Do you know how many band members have passed out while standing while marching because they locked their knees? Dozens! Millions! Don’t do it!”

 

Bitty sighed and fell backwards on the bed. Sam was currently brushing the other rabbit, swearing as hair stuck to black clothing.

 

“Sam, I’m really not that worried about fainting,” Bitty admitted, “I’m worried about _everything else._ ”

 

Sam looked over at Bitty with a concerned expression, then smiled and said, “Actually, how about you stop overthinking and instead worry about not killing my pet by feeding her your aglet.”

 

Bitty huffed and then pulled his shoelace out of the rabbit’s mouth, “Sorry,” he mumbled.

 

Sam walked over to sit next to Bitty, other bunny still in hand, “Talk to me.”

 

The new recruit shot up in his seat, “I’m making this giant decision, right? I am literally giving my life to the military. Why? For a job? For college money? What if I don’t even get to go to college? What if I get deployed? What if I don’t even make it past the first week of Basic? What if Donald Trump becomes president? What if Beyonce dies while I’m in Basic? How will I know? Who will tell me? What if-”

 

Bitty felt a hand on his shoulder, “Do you need to stress bake?” Sam asked.

  


Half an hour later, there is an apple pie in the oven. Bitty is sitting on the counter, his head in his hands. “Do you think I’m making a good choice?”

 

“Maybe,” Sam replied.

 

“Do you think I’m going in too young? Should I wait a few years?”

 

“Maybe,” Sam replied.

 

Bitty looked up, “You are incredibly unhelpful.”

 

Sam smiled and shrugged, “Listen Eric, it’s your choice what you do with your future,”

 

“Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about,” Bitty huffed.

 

“Actually, all you really need to know is, ” His friend insisted, “that whatever you attempt to do, you’ll succeed.”

 

Bitty smiled at Sam, and then jumped up when the oven dinged. Bitty then pulled out a flawlessly baked apple pie.

 

Sam leered over Bitty, “Looks good. Too bad you can’t just bake pies for the Air Force.”

 

“Who knows,” Bitty witted, “maybe I’ll switch jobs. I’ll make thousands of pies every day. I’ll be the most esteemed baker of pies the military has ever laid eyes on.”

 

Sam took a piece of pie and dug in, “Eventually you’ll get tired of baking.”

 

Bitty put his hand to his poor Georgian heart, which suddenly had skipped a beat, “How could you say such a thing?”

 

Sam shrugged, and with a full mouth said, “Just remember-”

 

“Don’t lock your knees,” Bitty rolled his eyes.

 

Sam grinned, “You got it.”

  


 

 

Sam was there. Along with Bitty’s parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and a few other school friends.

 

Bitty was at the recruiter’s office early with his parents. He still had papers to sign. Including his life insurance. Bitty was only 18 and he was already signing a document saying who received money when he died. What had he chosen?

 

Then, everyone began showing up. This was everyone who were important to him. His friends, none of them really thinking about going into the military, were there by his side, excited for him. They talked about how crazy he was, but how brave as well. They chatted while they waited for the Airman who was swearing him in to show up.

 

“So do you get a uniform yet?” One of Bitty's friends asked, cleaning her glasses on Sam’s shirt.

 

“No, not until I get to Basic Training.” Bitty answered.

 

She set her glasses back on her face, “When’s that?”

 

“I should be leaving in August, but I don’t know for sure yet.”

 

She shook her head, “The things we have to do for college these days. I think it’s ridiculous that people have to sell their souls to the military simply to afford a higher education.”

 

“I think you’ll do great!” Another friend piped up. She was two years younger than the other three of them. Bitty met her on random one day while he was working at the ice rink. They didn’t even go to the same school, but they’ve been extremely close ever since, “I’ll write to you every single day! Eek! I’m so proud of you!”

 

Bitty laughed, a shake in his voice, “Thanks, I’ll be looking forward to those letters.”

 

Suddenly, Sergeant Martin walked in with another man. He looked very casual, the only way he could tell his status was the Air Force cap he had on. 

 

They all introduced themselves and then the Sergeants took Bitty into the back room. They talked over a few things, what the swear-in said and meant, what Bitty was agreeing to, and if he had any questions.

 

He didn’t have any questions, so they walked back outside, and had Bitty stand in front of the flagpole that was standing in the office. The man talked a little bit to the small crowd of people. Bitty scanned around. Everyone was here for him, everyone was here for this decision he was making with his life. His decision.

 

His life.

 

Everyone was here for him.

 

Bitty suddenly felt light in his chest, he had to do it. He couldn’t go back, he didn’t want to. He had to do it. For him. For these people. For his country.

 

“Okay, Eric, raise your right hand…”

 

Eric Bittle raised his right hand.

 

“Repeat after me. I…”

 

“I, Eric, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic. That I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same. And that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God.”

 

By the time he got through the first five words, Bitty was tripping over his tongue, but he didn’t care, because by the time he started the sixth word, he was grinning proudly.

 

Once he finished, he walked over to the desk, and signed the last slip of paper, his oath. And that was it, he was done.

 

Then he was bombarded by a dozen different hugs and words of encouragement, and he knew, so help him God, he was not alone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "So...are you a boy or a girl?"  
> Sam: "I'm a pet owner."  
> "No, like, what's in your pants?"  
> Sam: "Haha, don't you mean what's ON my pants?"  
> "..."  
> Sam: "It's rabbit fur, by the way. Just. A lot of rabbit fur."


	7. 0600

In the next couple weeks of being officially a member of the military, Bitty’s life didn’t change much. Sure, he worked out a bit more in the spirit of preparing himself, but other than that, Bitty went through his days as normal. He worked at the ice rink, he hung out with his friends, he ate dinner with his parents. The only thing that was altered with the first weekend of June.

 

Bitty had received a welcome email a few days after swearing in. It was from a Master Sergeant Bernard, addressing him as ‘Trainee Bittle’. It had a whole lot of information about the training flight that Bitty would be involved in until he left for Basic.

 

Bitty was grateful that he would in the UTA weekends (Unit Training Assembly) for the beginner Airmen. He knew he would need all the help he could get to survive through Basic Training, and at least he would be a little prepared when he flew down in a few months. It also made him a little more worried for Basic. Who knew you had to train for training.

 

So Bitty could’ve walked through his life as a normal citizen until June 6th and 7th came, when he had to remember the decision and commitment that he had made.

 

The decision, which by the way, made him wake up at 4:30am to drive an hour out to the Providence Air Force Base in order to be there by 6:30am. Since Bitty lived such a distance away, he would be spending the night in the hotel on base. Not too sure about spending his entire weekend on a military base, Bitty decided after the fact that physical training was the very last thing on the schedule and he wasn't too keen on driving for two hours after that. 

 

Once receiving the email, Bitty read it over religiously. He memorized the map, he laid out the clothes for his ‘uniform’ (aka, a pair of jeans with a black or brown belt, well worn tennis shoes, and a plain t-shirt) and he made sure his hair was in standard.

 

When the day came, Bitty was ready. He arrived on time. When he passed the security gates, he remembered to tell the guards that he was a part of the 994th Training Flight, and he had not yet received an ID, like the letter said to do. He had his Air Force Reserves backpack filled with everything he needed. A notebook, his work out clothes, two extra black pens, a water bottle, and everything he needed to spend the night. He was ready.

 

Once he arrived at the Newcomer’s Building, and found the right classroom, he began to worry that maybe he was _too_ ready.

 

Everyone else was laughing, leaning back, kicking their feet up. The environment seemed more laid back than Bitty was expecting. That, and everyone was wearing a similar orange t-shirt with their first name written on the front and ‘Trainee’ printed on the back.

 

Everyone except two other boys. One boy huddled in the corner desk, looking awfully confused, and the other...was Jack Zimmermann.

 

Bitty decided to sit with the other kid. Walking over to him, he set his bag down in the desk beside him, “Hey,”

 

The kid looked up, “Oh, hi! I’m-I’m Chris Chow,”

 

“Eric Bittle, you can call me Bitty though,” He said, trying out his new nickname.

 

“That’s cool! I wish I had a awesome name, the only nickname I’ve had is 'Chrissy',” He scrunches his nose, “I don’t like that much.”

 

Bitty laughed, “We’ll think of one for you.” He sat down and peered around the room.

 

Chris Chow asked, “Is this your first weekend?”

 

Bitty looked back at him and nodded.

 

“Oh cool, me too. I’m pretty nervous. What’s your MOS?”

 

“MOS?”

 

“The job you signed up for.”

 

“Oh!” Bitty wasn’t sure how he was going to get used to all these abbreviations, “Broadcast Journalist.”

 

“That’s cool! I’m a 1C1X1.”

 

“A _what-_ ”

 

Bitty didn’t have time to ask what it meant because at that point, Master Sergeant Bernard called the class.

 

“Alright guys,” Bernard said, “Looks like we have a few new faces around the room. So I’m going to pass out the sign in sheets, the checklist, and the new kids can introduce themselves.”

 

Everyone in orange t-shirts seemed to know the way around, when the papers passed around, they began writing quickly, as if completing the same form for the hundredth time. Then, as the rest of the class wrote, Sergeant Bernard called on a recruit.

 

“How about someone we already know,” he said, “Jack?”

 

Jack Zimmermann stood up straight, planted his arms to his sides, his hands in a light fist in line with his thighs, “Sir, Trainee Zimmermann reports as ordered.”

 

“Excellent, at ease.” Bernard said, and Jack loosened his stance, “Now, tell us why you joined, and something interesting about you.”

 

As Jack spoke, Bitty thought. What did Jack just say? Was he supposed to do that as well?

 

Luckily, Bitty wasn’t the next guinea pig, as Bernard picked on Chow to speak after Jack finished.

 

With a grim face, Chow stood up and faced the class, who were more or less not paying attention to him. He shoved his hands in his pockets, “Uhm, I’m Chris Chow, and I joined because the rest of my family is very involved and I thought it would be a nice way to enter my career field…”

 

Bernard nodded at Chow to continue, “And one thing about yourself?”

 

“Uh,” Chow stuttered, “I really love Sharks? I mean, not the animal, the hockey team. Well, I guess the animal is good too? Anyway, yeah. Go Sharks!”

 

Chow sat down, his face slightly red with blush.

 

“Alright then. Last up.” Bernard motioned to Bitty.

 

With only a little trouble, Bitty stood. He held his hands flat against his thighs, and said, “Trainee Eric Bittle, uh, reporting as ordered?”

 

Bernard broke a grin, and looking around, everyone else in the room was smirking. Did he mess up that much?

 

“No need for that,” Bernard waved, “We will learn more about that later today. We make Jack do it because he’s been here already,” he turned to face Jack, who was looking at Bitty with an annoyed expression, “our own prodigy, you could say,”

 

Jack looked up at Bernard and actually smiled a little bit, but once Bernard turned back to continue, Jack’s face dropped to the same deadly glare.

 

Bitty coughed into his sleeve, to clear his throat and out of surprise. What did this boy have against him?

 

“Well,” Bitty began, “My dad is in the army, so I grew up in the military. But I’ve chosen y’all instead, so I can, you know, _branch out_ ,” Bitty was the only one who laughed at that joke, “and uh. Anyway, I like to bake and skate.”

 

Wanting to curl himself in his chair, Bitty sat down.

 

Bernard came to the front of the classroom again, “Okay, so what we are going to do now is head to the dining hall, eat some breakfast, and then we will meet back here at 07:45. New guys, meet with me before exiting.”

 

All the trainees grabbed their things, got with their friends, and walked out of the building in groups. Bitty was wondering if this place would be as cliquish as he remembers high school being. Maybe the military isn’t that different from school after all.

 

The newest trainees went over to Bernard, followed by Jack, standing behind them.

 

“I would like to personally welcome you to the wing,” Bernard said. He handed each of them a packet. “This will be your bible until you leave for Basic,” He then handed each of them a shirt, “And this is your uniform. Write your last name in the blank in sharpie.”

 

“Any questions?”

 

There were no questions.

 

“Alright, off you go to the dining hall. After breakfast I will have you three go and get your military IDs.”

 

Jack spoke up, “Do I have to? I already have one.”

 

“Yes, I know, Zimmermann” Bernard rolled his eyes, “But just because your father is up top doesn’t mean you get treated any differently.”

 

Jack huffed but nodded. He then pushed through Chow and Bittle out the door.

 

“What’s his problem?” Chow asked as the pair followed suit.

 

“I have no idea,” Bitty said, and he honestly didn’t. But something in him wanted to find out.

  


Breakfast was surprisingly nice. That meaning, the food and the company. He had made a good friend of Chow but he also met a few more people in the training flight.

 

They were all friendly and helpful towards the two newbies. Eager to ask about them and tell about themselves. Bitty was starting to think he was too quick to judge.

 

Well, except for the exception Jack, who seemed to already know all of the trainees, and as they were amiable towards him, he didn’t give much feedback.

 

“That’s just Jack,” One recruit explained with a shrug, “He’s always been like that.”

 

“So he was here before he enlisted?” Bitty asked.

 

“Oooh yeah,” Another trainee, a smiling boy with long hair that seemed way out of standards (was that a mullet), commented, “Wanna hear the story?”

 

The first recruit put her hand to her mouth, and in a whisper said, “No, shush, you can’t tell the story here.”

 

“Yes, I can, I’ll just whisper,”

 

“Fine, fine, it’s your skin,”

 

“What story?” Bitty asked, instantly curious.

 

“Okay, this is the story of Jack Zimmermann, the boy with the world on his shoulders…”


	8. 0700

_“Once upon a time there was a prince, and from a young-_

 

“Wait, Jack is a prince?!” Chow asked, mouth full of food.

 

“What? No,” The recruit said, annoyed that he was interrupted from beginning his dramatic tale, “Hold up, what are you even eating? (“It’s chowder, I think.” Chow made a face as he stared down at the oddly colored food in his bowl, as he managed to pick the only gross thing on the menu) Okay,  _Chowder,_ just listen to the story,”

 

_“From a young age, he knew he was to inherit the kingdom from his father. The kingdom of being a high ranking Airman. Extremely high ranking. His father was the Vice Commander of his Wing, the father of his father was a Lieutenant General. He had high standards to live up to._

 

_“But the prince also had a secret. He was scared of failure. Terrified of it. He would practice his memory work at home, he has been attending the training sessions before he was of age to enlist. And he would tear himself apart if he thought he was not working hard enough, and would be completely embarrassed if he answered a question incorrectly._

 

_“And so the prince-_

 

Bitty chimed in, “Wouldn’t Jack, maybe, be upset with y’all telling us this _highly personal_ information?”

 

The boy with the hair shrugged, “Nah, everyone knows it. Actually, Sergeant Bernard was the one to think up the whole ‘prince’ part of it. He likes his theatrics.”

 

“Oh, and don’t forget about Parson, he’s coming in today,”

 

“Oooh yeah! Can’t forget about that!”

 

“Who’s Parson?”

 

In unison, both veteran trainees said, “ _Who’s Parson?!”_

 

_“Parson, Kent Parson, that is, is probably tied for the best newcomer the Air Force has ever seen._

 

_“If rumors are true, he made Honor Grad of his flight. He probably has like 80 medals already, and he just graduated. And while he was here, like shit, it would’ve been an honor just to watch this guy work out. Color me impressed._

 

_“Anyway, Parse and Zimmermann were best bros. They did everything together. They smoked all the pop quizzes, they would compete to get the highest PT scores, etc. Of course, they both got 1st each time so it didn’t really matter, but you get the gist. They were even scheduled to leave for Basic on the same day._

 

“Question,” Chowder said, as they were all in line to put their trays away. “If Jack had already been here, why is he new now?”

 

“Getting to that,” The storyteller rolled his eyes, he put his finished dishes in the collect box and then kept talking while they headed back.

 

 _“‘Were’ is the key word. You see, as the days got closer for Basic, Jack got more anxious. Which is to be expected, of course, but, you see, Jack had it bad_.

 

 _“He kept having panic attacks. Tons of them. Intense. life-halting panic attacks. Then, the next training assembly, one just like today, a week before he was supposed to leave with Parse, he had three._ Three. _One was in the morning, before he came to class. He was able to collect himself enough to show for class. Then he had his second one that day. It was terrifying. He got called on during class, and he stuttered, blanked, got the question wrong. He left to go to the bathroom and didn’t come back for an hour. He was never the same. Then, while we were marching, he just snapped, fell to the ground and banged his head on the concrete._

 

_“After that day, well, we haven’t seen Jack since. Not until now. But Parse, he went ahead. Went to Basic without Jack, graduated, moved on with his life. Jack went to find himself or something, and I guess he had to go back to MEPs, start the process over. I didn’t think that was possible, but I supposed his dad can pull a few strings. It’s been nearly nine months, now Jack and Parse are back. Only in different uniforms.”_

 

Bitty suddenly felt pity for Jack. He couldn’t imagine having to do all of this again, he didn’t want to think about having trouble shipping out. It was all such a complicated and confusing process already, he couldn’t imagine the stress Jack had been through.

 

He wondered if Parse was a good, supportive friend during that time. Then, he realized he didn’t have to wait to find out.

 

Bitty and his new group of friends arrived back into the classroom later than everyone else. The story took longer to tell than Bitty thought it would, which was most likely because the trainees telling it focused more on making dramatic motions than the actual content. At least Chow seemed fairly entertained by it. Bitty couldn’t stop thinking of how Jack had felt. Maybe now he could see past the glares the older trainee always shot him.

 

As Bitty walked in and sat down in his uncomfortably small desk (even small for him, he swore someone must have changed his desk to one for elementary school children while he was eating. What are up with the chairs here), he noticed there was an extra person in uniform leaning against the wall in the back, chatting with Sergeant Bernard.

 

This person in full uniform who was fairly attractive, tall, blond, sporting a smirk and a name tape that read ‘Parson’.

 

By the way he stood and smiled, he appeared laid back and benign.

 

By the way Jack reacted when he walked into the room said, no, _screamed_ otherwise.

 

Jack walked in, chest high. He glided forward a few good steps before his entire stature changed. He saw Parson out of his peripheral and suddenly he was a turtle hiding in his shell. His hands went straight into his pockets, he head crouched, avoiding whatever gaze was coming his way. Jack picked up his pace and went directly to his seat.

 

Kent Parson, on the other hand, did not looked phased in the slightest. Instead, he watched Jack has he skidded to his chair. Like...a snake eyeing a meal. Bitty felt odd himself watching the interaction (or lack thereof) and he faced forward as Sergeant Bernard began speaking.

 

The Sergeant started by talking about the very basic information about Basic Training. It is an 8 ½ week training session. Everyone member of the Air Force goes down to San Antonio, Texas to complete those 8 ½ weeks. Afterwards you will go to however many days of job training that your individual jobs requires. Then, once you complete that, you can come home. Then he introduced Parson, who has done all of this.

 

Kent Parson then took the stage, he walked up, grinned and began with a simple, “Didja miss me?”

 

After, he went through and talked about his experience, what job he had (Dorm Chief aka leader of his flight), his favorite moment (the gas chamber), his least favorite (the yelling). He answered any and all questions, let the class converse and laugh together. He was all around a good speaker, and a very friendly guy, at least Bitty thought so.

 

So Bitty couldn’t figure out why the entire time, Jack never said a word, keeping his head down and barely looked like he was breathing.

 

Once Kent finished speaking, it was time to study. There was a lot of that. The ‘bible’ that Sergeant Bernard had given them was filled back to front of things Bitty and the rest of the group had to memorize. From the ranking insignia to who was the Secretary of Defense, Bitty had to know them. Chow and him helped each other find ways to learn. Luckily, Bitty had just gotten out of school, so cramming his brain with random knowledge wasn’t a new exercise for him.

 

After that, Sergeant Bernard called everyone outside to practice drill and marching. Bitty was excited for this part. For one, because he knew how often they marched at Basic Training, and secondly, he knew a lot of people in the marching band and was especially excited to rub his new _military_ knowledge in Sam’s high school band geek face.

 

Disappointingly, Bernard stopped him before he could head out the door with the rest of the class.

 

“Nuh uh,” Bernard shook his head, “You and the other newbies need to go get your military IDs. I don’t want to have to send a day pass to the gate every month.”

 

That was true. Bitty wasn’t even allowed in the gate without a Military ID. He had to pull off to the side so the security guards could check the system to see if he had a pass. Luckily, everything went over well and he was able to get in, but that experience wasn’t one he wanted to have every single month.

 

Jack Zimmermann rounded about, faced the Sergeant and repeated, “I already have one, do I have to go?”

 

“Yes, you do.” Sergeant Bernard said, “You are a newbie, so we are going to treat you like one.”

 

Jack glared, “What am I supposed to do?”

 

“You and Parson can teach the new kids how to march while you all wait. You know how long it takes to get new guys in.”

 

“Me and-” Jack’s face fell.

 

Bitty backed out a few steps, feeling the tension rise in the room. Kent simply stood casually on the side. He looked unaffected by Jack’s startled starter. Bitty thought maybe it was just him, but he looked over at Chow, whose eyes were wide watching the situation unfold. He looked like if he had some popcorn, he would be eating it in anticipation.

 

Jack made eye contact with Kent for the first time that day and swallowed whatever was blocking his throat, “O-okay.”

 

“Good,” Sergeant Bernard said, “Now, get going. Kent, you know which building it is. Take the little ones with you.”

 

“Yes, sir.” Kent said, he waved for them to follow him. Chow did gladly, following the Airman like a puppy.

 

Bitty, however, held back for Jack, who was walking slower, more hesitantly. Bitty tried to meet Jack’s eyes, and send him a soft smile.

 

You could imagine how Bitty felt (surprised, stricken, swooned) when Jack sent a similar, uneasy smile back.


	9. 0800

“Okay, now you try.” Kent said, as Bitty and Chowder stood at attention in front of him.

 

The three of them were practicing facing movements. Marching wasn’t as hard as Bitty thought it would be. Bitty’s past of skating, fancy footwork came easily to him. If anything, it was just decorative walking.

 

Bitty thought it more than straightforward. Kent was teaching them right/left faces and an about face. Right and left face both are exactly what they sound like. While you are standing at attention (attention is just standing still with your heels together), you pick up your toe of the foot you are turning on, and the heel of the one you are not and then you just rotate 90 degrees. Ta-da, you are facing a different direction. With style. 

 

Somehow, Chowder messed up. That boy did not know his right from left.

   

Next, Kent taught them an about face. A spin that puts you 180 degrees facing the other direction. Bitty perfected this quickly. You simply put your right foot behind you at a point, then spin completely around on that foot until you are facing the other way.

 

Somehow, Chowder _really_ messed that up. He tripped and fell a few times. That boy had no sense of balance.

 

Although, what Chowder lacked in marching, he made up in memory work.

 

“...the abbreviation for a Chief Master Sergeant is CMSgt. And the abbreviation for the Chief Master Sergeant of the Air Force CMSAF.” Chowder finished.

 

Kent, Bitty, and Jack all looked at Chowder with mildly shocked expressions. Kent said, “And this is your _first_ weekend? You recited the entire enlisted chain, AND you know their abbreviations too? Good job, kid.”

 

Chowder shrugged, “I’m good at remembering things.”

 

The door on the side of the waiting room opened, and an uniformed man stepped out and called, “Chris Chow? You ready?”

 

“Yes, sir!” Chowder exclaims, he ran to the door and followed the man in.

 

It falls silent for a moment as Bitty is left alone with Kent and Jack. Bitty wasn’t a snooper, that just wasn’t him. But, growing up in the south, he knew drama went he saw it. There was certainly something going on between the two of them, he simply couldn’t tell what.

 

The side-eye game in the room was strong. Kent kept looking at Jack out of the corner of his eye. Jack kept his gaze to the ground. He hadn’t done much since they got there besides sit in one of the chairs and remain quiet.

 

Right when Kent opened his mouth to speak, Chowder ran back through the door, “Sorry! Forgot my driver’s license!”

 

He grabbed his folder that he had left, then rushed back into the room.

 

The silence falls again.

 

It’s like that for a few more minutes. Bitty biting his cheek while trying to think of something to break the ice.

 

“So-”

 

Kent interrupted Bitty, “First weekend, huh?”

 

“O-oh,” Bitty stuttered, “I mean, yeah. It is.”

 

“You’ll do great,” Kent flashed a white-toothed grin, “Do you have a ship out date yet?”

 

“Yup, August 29th.”

 

“That’s a good one. End of summer, won’t be all too hot, but still not cold.” Kent shrugged, leaned back in his chair and said, “I left last October. It got cold, even for Texas.”

 

Bitty nodded, then craned his neck to look at Jack behind him, “Do you have a date?”

 

Jack’s eyes shot up, looked back and forth from Bitty to Kent and replied, “July 5th,”

 

“Wow, that’s soon.” Bitty commented, “Will you be here for the next training weekend?”

 

Jack nodded, then turn his head the other way, signalling that the conversation was over.

 

Looking back to Kent, Bitty didn’t get the reaction he thought. Kent looked upset. Not sad, sad could have been understood. He looked _angry._

 

Silence fell across the room again. Bitty kept to himself this time, re-reading his study book while trying not to focus on the tension in the room.

 

Soon, he was called into the room. He was asked a few questions, and then his picture was taken.

 

Ugh.

 

Okay, so he didn’t know whether or not to smile, so he ended up with a Mona Lisa type expression, but on a sleep deprived Bitty, it did not look good. But, no matter how the picture looked, he had his military ID. It felt official.

 

When he walked back into the waiting room, he found a lack of people. Chowder was sitting in the chairs, humming and flipping through his packet.

 

“Where’s Jack and Kent?” Bitty asked.

 

Chowder shrugged, “Bathroom, I think. Hey, do you know what the ‘M’ in M16 stands for? I gotta figure that out…”

 

Bitty shook his head slightly, then looked around, trying to find the bathroom. A part of him was telling himself that it was only to use the restroom. It made sense, he’s been around here for a long time. Another part wanted to check on Jack. Something was going on, and he wanted to make sure he was okay. Another, smaller part, was wondering why he even cared.

 

Once he made his way to the boys’ bathroom, he stopped at the entrance. He heard voices, a conversation that he definitely wasn’t about to walk in on. Bitty knew he should turn away, this fell under the list of things he surely was not supposed to hear.

 

Still…

 

“I...I don’t know…Kenny, I can’t do this.”

 

“Jack, come on.”

 

“I...uh... _Kenny,”_

 

“-Zimms, just fucking _stop thinking_ for once and listen to me. If anyone has a reason to be mad, it’s me, okay? And, you, you said that when you got better, we could try again. And well, look at you now…”

 

“Kenny, no,”

 

“Jack, come on! You’ll go to Basic, and you can, what? Regain your honor? Whatever, then you can be done that shit and we can-”

 

“I can’t right now, okay? And you can’t just show up and expect-”

 

“Because you shut me out!”

 

“-me to forget everything-”

 

“I’m trying to be forgiving-”

 

“-and expect me to do whatever you want!”

 

“ _Fuck, Jack!_ What do you want me to say? That I miss you? I miss you, okay?”

 

“...you always say that.”

 

“...huh. Well, _shit, okay_ . You know what, Zimmermann? You think you are too fucked up to care about? That you’re not good enough? Everyone already _knows_ what are you and it’s people like me who still _care_.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“You’re scared everyone else is going to find out you’re worthless, right? _Oh don’t worry, just give them a few weeks, Jack. Trust me.”_

 

“Leave me alone.”

 

“Fine! Shut me out again.”

 

“S-stay away from the training flight.”

 

“ _Why? Afraid I’ll tell them something?”_

 

_“Leave!”_

 

Bitty nearly threw himself against the wall as Kent and Jack emerge from the bathroom. They both threw him a stare before Kent walked past them.

 

“All done, Bitty?” He put his uniformed hat on his head, “Well, Jack, call me if you reconsider or whatever, but good luck in Basic. I’m sure you’ll make your dad proud.”

 

As Kent goes to the waiting room to get Chowder, Bitty looked up at Jack, wanting to reach out. Before he can make the gesture, Jack stomped straight to the exit without a word.

  


The rest of the weekend is drama-less. Kent doesn’t come back to the classroom, Jack doesn’t say much else. They listen to a few more lectures, they go outside and run. Bitty does fine. Sure, he’s exhausted and sound in his hotel suite by the time they get done, but he was proud of his accomplishments.

 

By the time he gets home Sunday night, he’s excited for the next one. He had half the mind to call up some of the people from the training to hang out in the meantime. But every time he thought about it, he thought of Jack. If Bitty only had one more weekend with Jack, and he was going to make it count.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bitty: "Hey, do you know why Kent Parson and Jack don't get along anymore?"
> 
> "Oh, you didn't hear? So you are only allowed a few phone calls during Basic right? Then you can only send letters? Well, apparently, every single time Kent got a phone call, he called Jack. Jack never picked up. And even though when he left, they were best friends, Jack never sent Kent a letter once."


	10. 0900

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me if these next few chapters aren't the best, I'm going to start cranking them out before I leave Tuesday. I'm guessing there will be two more chapter before I ship off, so look forward to that this weekend, thanks for reading!

~~~~“Left, HACE!”

 

Together, the flight turned 90 degrees to the left.

 

“Trainee Bittle!”

 

Bitty snaps to attention. Which, since they were already in attention, looked a bit silly, “Sir, Trainee Bittle, reporting as ordered!”

 

“What are you _reporting_?” Sergeant Bernard yelled.

 

Bittle cringed and restated, “Sir, Trainee Bittle, _reports_ as ordered.”

 

“Better, now Bittle, what is the ranking insignia of a Senior Master Sergeant?”

 

“Uh,” Bittle started, “Sir, the ranking insignia of a Senior Master Sergeant is, uh...?”

 

“Ten, nine, eight…” Sergeant Bernard began counting down.

 

“Uh, seven stripes!”

 

“Are you sure?” Sergeant Bernard shouted, “You can change your answer once!”

 

“Oh, uh, eight, sir!”

 

“WRONG!” Sergeant Bernard yelled, “You’re out!”

 

Eric frowned. Damnit. He turned around and fell out of formation. This was the second time he got eliminated from the drill off today. The drill off was a game they played, basically Simon Says except with marching language. Bitty always did well, until it came to the questions.

 

Bitty plodded to the side and stood by Chowder, who got eliminated within the first few minutes. Chowder still had a lot to work on when it came to marching.

 

But, Bitty, he did fine! He knew he could win this if it wasn’t for those dumb questions. It wasn’t fair.

 

They stood around while Jack won again. Apparently, Jack won every time. So often that the other trainees made it their personal battle to beat him. They never did.

 

One of these people became Bitty. He could do it. He would do it.

 

Filled with this new determination, Bitty turned on his heel and walked towards the building with everyone else.

 

“Hey, Bit-”

 

Bitty turned and Jack stood behind him, his hand an inch away from his shoulder.

 

“Oh, hi!” Bitty blushed.

 

Jack drew his hand back as he said, “You knew that question,”

 

Bitty rubbed his arm, “I thought I did, but I didn’t.”

 

“No, I mean,” Jack restated, “A Senior Master Sergeant has seven stripes, you were right.”

 

Taking a moment to think, imagining the symbol in his mind, Bitty frowned, “Yeah...wait, then why did the Sergeant ask me to change my answer?”

 

“He was tricking you, trying to get you to change your answer. You fell for it. Actually, you did both times today. You need to show some confidence.”

 

Bitty, oh he didn’t know why, chuckled slightly, “Heh, yeah. It’s just...I get nervous when they raise their voices at me?”

 

Louder and angrier than before, Jack said, “Is that a question or a statement?”

 

Bitty leaned back and began stuttering, “U-uh, I don’t-”

 

Jack softened, “Well, you're right and I don’t mean to scare you but-”

 

“No, it’s not that I’m scared. It’s just, my mind blanks and I forget how to talk. Which is not helpful when they ask questions.”

 

“I can understand that, but, once you get down there…” Jack pauses, “But, hey, which room are you in tonight?”

 

“415.” Bitty said, a little too fast.

 

“I’m 429,” Jack replied, “Maybe we can study after we get out today? Who knows, maybe you’ll beat me tomorrow.”

 

“O-oh, yeah, sure, definitely,” Bitty said. Jack nodded, without a smile, and then followed the crowd to the classroom.

Bitty took a giant breath and shadowed Jack’s actions. For some reason, Bitty couldn’t sit still as he waited impatiently until 3:30pm.

 

 

 

 

“Eric, you’re doing great,

 

“That’s right,

 

“Mm, how about we try that again,

 

“There you go, that’s it,”

 

After two hours, Bitty didn’t think he could take much more. His dear heart fluttered as if it was getting ready for take off. Every time Jack would ask him a question, he would follow it up with the sweetest smile that sang; _you can do it._

 

“See?” Jack insisted, “You’ve memorized all of this.”

 

Bitty shrugged, “It’s not too hard. Last semester, crammed the entire chapter of the Civil War for History in one night after missing a week of school and got a 98 on the test.”

 

“What college do you go to?” Jack asked.

 

“I just...graduated high school.”

 

“Oh!” Jack realized and then, not so subtlety scoots away from Bitty, “So you are…”

 

“Eighteen!” Bitty surprised himself with how feverishly he answered, “I’m eighteen.”

 

“Oh, oh, good, I mean. Cool. I'm 23.”

 

After a horrific moment of silence, Jack spoke again, “How about we try some questions with you standing at attention now?”

 

“Sure,” Bitty hopped off his bed and stood in front of Jack. Out of consideration for Jack’s personal space, and of his own faint heart, Bitty took a few steps back.

 

Jack stayed seated, and at this level, they were the same height. Bitty couldn’t help but to take his view of Jack, sitting on his bed for the night, in his trainee uniform, one godly long leg propped up while the other dangles.

 

Bitty mentally pinched himself. No, this is real. But if it is, then why is he still dreaming?

The one thing Bitty knew he didn’t want to do is date apart of the military. Sure, maybe after he got out of Basic, but he knew that Jack was planning on being an officer. Officers moved around a lot, whole lot. Was that really a life he wanted to live? A life that his parents so carefully diverted him from?

 

Well, that, and the fact the whole, you know, homosexual thing. Jack was a poster child for a straight, white military man.

 

...or was he?

 

There he goes again! He cleared his head and focused on the question in front of him.

 

“Okay, Bittle, what is the pay grade of a Brigadier General?”

 

Bitty fixed his stance at attention, “The pay grade of a Brigadier General is...O-7.”

 

“Correct.” Jack grinned, he then stood up, and walked around the room, staring down at the booklet for the next question. Bitty tried his best to keep his composure and remain at attention while Jack wandered about the room.

 

“Okay, I am an officer with a gold bar, what is my rank?”

 

“An officer with a gold bar is a Second Lieutenant.”

 

Jack tsked, “Do you want to change your answer?”

 

“Oh, um, First Lieutenant.”

 

Jack whipped around, and got in Bitty’s face, “I asked you if you wanted to change your answer, Bittle. That is a yes or no question.”

 

“O-o oh, uhm, yes?”

 

“Why?” Jack snarled.

 

“B-because I…” Bitty stuttered. He cursed and tried to compose himself, “Because I w-was...because I was wrong.”

 

Jack relented, “You weren’t wrong, Bittle.”

 

“But you wanted me to change my answer.”

 

“Remember? They are going to trick you down there. You are smart, Bits,” Jack’s blue eyes smiled, “You need to be confident in your answers, even if you are wrong, go down with glory. They will respect that. I’m certain that you are gonna do great down there, you need to be too.”

 

Bitty looked up and grinned, “Let’s try again!”

 

 

 

 

He took to breathing. His eyelids fluttered against the sunlight as he fought to keep them closed. He was in the final round of the drill off. It was him, Jack, and one other recruit. At this point, everyone had their eyes closed so they couldn’t rely off the others, only what they heard.

 

Bitty couldn’t tell where he was facing at this point. He did know that he was close enough to Jack to feel his body heat.

 

Within the next few moments, the other recruit gets out. He could tell that it was the boy who told often told him stories from his verbal disappointment that he got out.

 

It was only him and Jack now.

 

Bitty heard the footsteps of Sergeant Bernard, circling them, deciding how to make it harder. He heard the small chatter of the rest of the trainees who already got out waiting around them.

 

“TRAINEE BITTLE!” Sergeant Bernard shouted.

 

Bitty snapped to attention, “Sir, Trainee Bittle, reports as ordered!”

 

“Bittle, who is the Secretary of the Air Force?”

 

“Sir, the Secretary of the Air Force is the Honorable Deborah Lee James.”

 

“And what is her ranking insignia?”

 

Bitty thought hard. What was it? He studied this, didn’t he?

 

“Five, four, three…”

 

_Damn it!_

 

Breathe.

 

Wait a second…

 

“...two…”

 

“Sir, the Honorable Deborah Lee James is a civilian, she has no ranking insignia!”

 

“...good job, Bittle.” Sergeant Bernard had a hint of pride in his voice but it vanished when he hounded down on Jack, “Is that a smile? What you smiling for?”

 

Jack was smiling? Was he smiling for him?

 

Was he proud of him?

 

“Right, HACE!”

 

Bitty turned.

 

On the wrong command.

 

See, with faces, you are supposed to turn on the ‘hace’ part. Bitty made the mistake of assuming and turn on the ‘right’.

 

“YOU’RE OUT, BITTLE! Jack wins!” Sergeant Bernard called, “Again.”

 

Bittle opened his eyes to see the crowd of trainees scowling playfully;  _Again!?_ He turned around, expecting to see a smug Jack, but oh how it was the opposite.

 

Jack face lit like a spotlight, Bitty actually felt lightheaded looking at the enthusiasm on his face.

 

“You did it!” Jack grinned.

 

Bitty rubbed the back of his neck, “Almost, you still won.”

 

Jack _laughed_ , “I wasn’t expecting you to win, Bittle. You did good, really good, but don’t worry about beating me. I’ve been here longer than I’ve been in school.”

 

Bitty chuckled, “Challenge accepted.”

 

“Maybe when we both get back,” Jack mused, “We’ll have a one-on-one showdown.”

 

“I’ll look forward to that,” Bitty and Jack began walking in the line to go back to the classroom, trailing behind the group slightly, “So...this is your last weekend?”

 

Jack nodded, “Yeah, about time too. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

 

Bitty nodded, and quieted as they reached the door.

 

As they passed the threshold, Jack put his hand on Bitty’s shoulder, “Hey,”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“When you leave, I want you to remember this, okay? Remember, they are trying to get to you. It’s their job. Your job is to show them that they can you easily. You are going to do amazing things, Bittle.”

  
“I’ll remember,” Bitty promised. How could he forget?


	11. 1000

Do you know the beginning of London Bridge by Fergie? The suspenseful repetitive voice-over of  “Oh, shit”, perfectly matched with the dire danger of the police sirens in the background? Before Fergie begins singing and the music started playing?

 

You know that song?

 

That would have been the background music that was playing when Bitty saw Jack walk into the classroom for next weekend in August.

 

He was late, he had missed breakfast and they were already starting the first lesson of the day: the jobs that they assign you down at Basic.

 

Bitty was sitting next to Chowder as always towards the back of the room. Since Jack came late and wasn’t even supposed to show up, someone had taken his usual spot. Therefore, Jack was forced to grab the desk next to Chowder and Bitty in the back.

 

Jack pulled in besides Chowder.

 

Bitty leaned over a bit to look at him. He looked angry. Like, royally pissed off. Bitty thought he basically have seen Jack at his most upset, especially after the Parson incident, This time, he simply looked like someone had torn him apart.

 

It took him a few minutes to gather the courage to lean forward so he could see Jack over Chowder and ask, “What happened?”

 

Jack answered, arms crossed and not taking his eyes off the presentation Sergeant Bernard was teaching, “I got a speeding ticket.”

 

Shit.

 

There are a few things that can delay your Basic Training date. Those things are usually 1) being over the weight limit and 2) having a ticket. Jack must have gotten his recently and not have had enough time to get it paid off. Bitty thought it was incredible bad luck.

 

He then whispered, “Did you get a new date?”

 

Jack made eye contact with Bitty, and Bitty froze. No one had ever looked at him like that before.

 

Like everything was completely his fault.

 

“August 29th.” He said.

 

Shit.

 

Bitty didn’t say anything. He leaned back in his seat and focused on the lesson. Yes. That would be the best thing to do.

 

So, Jack hated him again.

 

And they now shared the same date to depart to Basic.

 

Whoo.

 

Bitty minded himself for the rest of the lesson, taking notes and doodling on the paper. After the lesson ended, they were beginning to move on to practice marching, when Sergeant Bernard ordered anyone who was leaving before the next UTA to stay in the room.

 

Only five of the 30 trainees stayed in the room. Which were two girls, him, Jack, and the kid that Bitty was taken to call ‘Story Boy’. Also in the room were all the recruiters that had kids shipping out while Sergeant Bernard went outside with the others. One of these recruiters included Sergeant Martin.

 

She grinned and waved at Bitty once she walked in and he was eager to counter the action. Bitty hadn’t seen Sergeant Martin since he swore in. Always nice to see a familiar face.

 

The recruiters, three in total, started by passing out a few papers. To everyone besides Jack, who just sat with his head down.

 

Bitty tried to pay attention to the words, because he knew they were important. He tried not to look at Jack. In all of this, he couldn’t stop thinking about where he was now.

 

It was the beginning of August. He would be in Texas by the end of it. Was he ready?

 

“Make sure you get to the out processing building by 9:00am,” Sergeant Martin was explaining, “There, the woman in charge will weigh you and hand out your orders. Make sure you get twenty copies…”

 

They continued to talk about some specifics of things that were necessary to know before they left, before they started goofing off and telling their own stories about Basic.

 

Bitty didn’t contribute, but he smiled at the right times. He learned a few things too. Things that didn’t quite make sense yet. Such as; do not let the MTIs in during EC duty unless they have the proper IDs, learn to communicate with others without talking, etc.

 

Not too long after, the rest of the flight came back from marching and then were all dismissed to go to lunch.

 

As Bitty hung back to wait for Chowder, Story Boy caught up to him.

 

“Hey, when do you leave?” He asked.

 

“The 29th,” Bitty answered, “You?”

 

“The 16th,”

 

“Wow, that’s close,”

 

Story Boy shrugged, “Yeah. I thought I would feel it more, but it hasn’t hit me. I don’t think it will until I get on that plane. So you know if you have anyone who is leaving with you? I’m all alone on this one.”

 

Bitty nodded, “Yeah. Jack leaves that day too.”

 

Story Boy whistled, “Good luck with that, man. Who knows, maybe you’ll get into the same flight.”

 

Bitty bit his lip, “Yeah. Who knows.”

 

 

 

 

The weekend passed faster than he thought it would. Saturday flew by, he hung out at lot more with Chowder and Story Boy, of who Bitty still didn’t know his name by Sunday. Jack still refused to talk to him, or anyone really.

 

They practiced marching less on Sunday, because they had to do their PT test and Sergeant Bernard wanted them to save their energy. But they still did a drill off.

 

They got into formation, and began. Sergeant Bernard was taking his time today explaining to the trainees were they went wrong once they got out, which means that everyone who was still stood at attention for long, which was more or less getting exhausting.

 

There were about five people left, Bitty included. Sergeant Bernard told them to close their eyes. Bitty did so.

 

Sergeant Bernard told them to parade rest.

 

Bitty did so.

 

Sergeant Bernard told them to right face.

 

Bitty knew the trick and didn’t. You can only turn while you are in attention, but unfortunately for them, two people forgot that.

 

It took a long time for the next person to get out. Sergeant Bernard finally stumped them on a particular, oddly worded question and it was just Bitty and Jack again.

 

“About, HACE.” Sergeant Bernard yelled.

 

Bitty did so. See, the thing about closing your eyes is that you can’t know how many degrees you are turning. So, watching the last few in a drill off is funny, because they are facing every which way. Bitty only realized that he was now standing right in front of Jack when he felt his breath on him.

 

Refusing to let himself become distracted, he squeezed his eyes shut tighter and listened to directions.

 

“Parade, HEST.” Sergeant Bernard shouted.

Nice and neat, Bitty took a side step out and placed his arms behind his back.

 

“Ten, HUT.”

 

Bitty snapped back to attention.

 

“Order, ARMS!”

 

Bitty did nothing.

 

“Remember, the command to salute is _Present, Arms,_ and to lower your salute is _Order, Arms_. So if you aren’t saluting, you won’t do anything on that command,” Bernard explained, “Jack, you’re out, Bittle wins.”

 

For a moment, Bitty thought he heeded wrong, then he heard small celebratory noises coming from the sidelines. He opened his eyes with a grin. He won!

 

What happiness his victory gave him was short lived when he looked up and saw Jack Zimmermann staring daggers at him. If Bitty had thought Jack hated him before, it was no question now.

 

Bitty caved and turned on his heel to walk away, refusing to take part in the stare down. That was one game he wouldn't win.

 

Was Bitty really crushing on someone who hated him so much? Especially right before he left for Basic Military Training? What was wrong with him?

 

Sunday passed, he said his goodbyes to the people he wouldn’t be able to see before he left. Chowder began tearing up while hugging Bitty. Even though he knew he would see Chowder again, Bitty isn’t afraid to admit that he started too. Chowder was the first real friend he made in the training and he would miss him.

 

“Next time I see you, you’ll be in uniform, right?” Chowder grinned.

 

Bitty agreed, “Yeah. And the next time I see you?”

 

“I’m supposed to leave in September, I think. Who knows, maybe I’ll see you there?”

  
In his peripheral, he saw Jack talking to Sergeant Bernard. Bitty nodded to Chowder, “No matter what, it’s going to be an adventure down there. That’s for sure.”


	12. 1100

 

“Dicky!” Bitty’s mother shouted across the house, “You have visitors!”

 

“Just send them up, Mom!”

 

Three people walked into Bitty's room to find him sprawled across his bed, staring at the ceiling, as he had been for the last 15 minutes since he put the second pie in the oven.

 

“Wow, it smells really nice in your house!” Heather, the youngest, commented before letting herself fall on the bed beside her friend. Bitty didn't know how she did it, but this kid smiled like the sun, a feat that promoted others to do the same. 

 

Alberta, adjusting her glasses and having a seat on the bed, promptly judged Bitty, “How many pies have you made today?”

 

Bitty groaned, “Six? Well, the two in the oven right now are five and six so technically four.”

 

Sam leaned against the wall, “You know, you can’t stress bake at Basic.”

 

Bitty stuck his tongue out, “You don’t know that.”

 

“I have a good feeling,” Sam shrugged.

 

Heather kicked back on Bitty’s bed, “What are you nervous about?”

 

Bitty sat up, his hands in the air, “I leave in a week! One week and then I’ll be gone for 8 ½ weeks for Basic Military Training! And then 77 more days for technical school! I’ve been away from home that long! That’s like-”

 

“Six months,” Alberta answered.

 

“Six months! Half a year!” Bitty proclaimed, “That’s...that’s-”

 

“A really long time,” Alberta answered solemnly.

 

It was quiet. Bitty often forgot that his absence would affect the people around him. His mother wouldn’t let him forget that. When they did things together, she would not fail to mention how much she would miss doing this with him, how quiet the house would be without him.

 

“Hey,” Alberta said, turning to face Bitty, “We are all going through big changes. Sam is going off to a big college up north, I’m taking a gap year, and Heather-what are you even doing with your life, Heather?” Alberta teased.

 

Heather laughed, “I’m still in high school, watching you adults in horror.”

 

That made Bitty smile, “I know, I know. Y’all are going through changes too, it’s just...it’s happening really fast.”

 

Bitty felt the weight on his back and heard Heather laughing. His friend hugged him and said by his ear, “That’s life, Eric, but that’s why you keep nice people around. We will always be here for you, whenever you need us.”

 

Bitty’s smile grew as Heather kissed his cheek. Heather was one of the sweetest friends he could ask for, he never left a conversation with her smile less.

 

Well, not always.

 

“Sooo,” Heather said, backing away, “How’s it going with the Military Boy?”

 

Bitty jumped off the bed, “It’s not _going_ anywhere. He hates me. I swear, he does. And the best part is that I’m going down with him! I might have to sit next to him on the plane! I don’t know what I’m gonna do!”

 

“You could hold his hand if there’s turbulence.” Alberta said nonchalantly.

 

Bitty crossed his arms, “Alberta? Really? What happened to you being against this?”

 

“Oh, I am still completely opposed, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to pass up an opportunity to make fun of you.”

 

Bitty rolled his eyes while Heather couldn’t control her giggles, “Great, thanks for everything,”

 

Sam spoke up, after being silent for most of the time, “Hey, wanna go check on your pies?”

 

Bitty nodded, “Yeah, I’d better,” He turned to the girls sitting on his bed, “Behave.”

 

“Okay, Mom!” They said in unison.

 

Bitty rolled his eyes and followed Sam towards the kitchen. He had honestly baked four pies today. He didn’t know what he was going to do with them, but you know. There they were. 

 

As Bitty opens the oven to check the pies. The crust looked a nice light brown, so he lowered the heat and set the timer for 45 more minutes.

 

While he works, Sam talks, “It’s okay to be scared, Bitty. It’s going to be a big change.”

 

“I know,” Bitty sighed, and then asked, “Are you scared too?”

 

“Of college?” Sam ran a hand through honey hair, “Yeah, I’m pretty scared. I leave in two weeks, I don’t know anyone there, it’s two hours away from anyone I do know, and...I’m getting really worried.”

 

Bitty nodded, “You are going to do great. You’ll make new friends, you are smart, and you still have the rest of us back here. Just make sure you don’t forget about your wimpy high school friends back here.”

 

Sam laughed, “I know. And that’s wonderful advice, Bitty. But would you believe it if I said that exact same thing to you?”

 

Bitty closed the oven and turned to Sam, sighing, “You have a point. It’s hard not to be worried.”

 

“No one is expecting you not to be nervous. You are going to _Basic Military Training,_ that’s a big deal. What we are trying to say is, that you are not alone in this. Even though we aren’t going through the same experience, I know I’m not going in all by myself, I would hate for you to not to feel alike.”

 

Bitty gave a soft smile, “Thanks, Sam. How do you always know what to say?”

 

Sam shrugged, “I want to be a psychologist, I kind of have to. Speaking of which, do you want to talk about Military Boy?"

 

Bitty leaned over the counter, resting his forehead in his palm and pouting, "No. It's just some dumb crush, nothing really to talk about. We should go check on the girls. They’ve probably have torn up my bed and looked through my diary.”

 

“ _You have a diary?_ ” Sam grinned and then started running to Bitty’s room.

 

Bitty shot up and chased after Sam, “Wait, no!”


	13. 1200

Bitty religiously looked through his bag while re-reading the paper of objects he would need. He didn’t want to pack too much, but also didn’t want to forget something important. Though it would have been doubtful since he was bringing so little things. He only had two pairs of pants, three t-shirts, a bunch of travel-size toiletries, and whatever paperwork he needed. It was 7am on the day that he was to leave, and still, it didn’t feel real. It felt like maybe he was going out for a few days, not half the year.

He couldn’t tell you if he was ready to go. He didn’t feel ready, because it hadn’t quite hit him yet. Bitty had been answering all the other most popular questions as of lately such as;

“Are you nervous?”

Yes. He was nervous. He was so nervous he was having trouble sleeping at night. He kept watching vlogs of people who have previously made it through, getting some advice and encouraging himself that if they can do it, he can do it.

“Are you excited?”

Yes. He was excited. Bitty was beyond excited, to meet new people, get this whole Air Force thing rolling. He has been waiting impatiently all these days. He was excited to get it over with.

He spent his last day watching videos, being with his friends and, more importantly, being with himself. He wanted time to think, to watch his favorite shows, cruise the internet.

Things he wouldn't be able to do in a day’s time.

He tried to look forward it but in all senses, there was a question only he asked himself;

“Are you scared?”

Yes.

He was scared.

Terrified. Frightened. Petrified. Scared shitless.

No matter how prepared he was, how much fun it may be, he was still scared of what may happen.

He hardly slept that night. How was he supposed to? He knew that sleep would be important, especially in the coming days, but he kept waking up here and there, and stayed up for a little while before he thinks himself back to sleep.

He listened to music a lot that last day. That’s probably what he will miss most. His music.

On the car ride to the Base, he jams to Beyonce, Sia, and Elie Goulding. His father drives while his mother remains uncharacteristically quiet.

They get a little lost on the way to the out processing building, but inevitably find it. When they arrived, Jack was already there with his mother and father. He looked anxious, and when he looked at Bitty-actually, he never looked at Bitty. Not when the Sergeant gave them a briefing, the plane ticket, their packet of documents, Jack never once diverted his eyes from the papers in front of him.

Bitty tried not to be offended. He focused on what was in front of him.

It took a few hours, then they were out the door. They were told to meet at the airport two hours early, which meant they needed to be there around 2pm.

Bitty’s mother and father took this time to take Bitty out for lunch. They laughed, gave their son advice, but in all, it was a depressing meal.

Was he ready? What if something went wrong? What if he didn't even finish?

Soon enough, those questions didn't matter. He was at the airport.

His mom and dad wishes him a sloppy and sappy goodbye. Bitty cried. He has to be honest, he would miss them.

He met Jack at the front desk, where they were turning their information. For the first time that day, Jack met his eye.

Bitty asked, “Are you ready?”

Jack said, “No.”

They stood right in front of the security gates, the start of whatever it was that came next.

Let’s do this.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's it. I'm supposed to get on a plane at 4pm to fly off to Texas, let's hope I even get past medical and I graduate on time. Thanks for sticking around this long and next up you can look forward to Ransom & Holster, Shitty, and some really gay stuff. Laters.


	14. 1300

Zero Night

San Antonio, Texas

 

If you were to ask Bitty what he did the first week, he could not tell you, the same would go if you had asked about second week. He knows he did a lot. Between going to classes, briefing, getting shots and issued his uniform, the days merged together into two long weeks.

  
What he does remember, crystal clear as the sky, is Zero Night.

  
The first few days you arrived is called Zero Week, which counts as part of the half in 8 and a half weeks. The night you arrived is dubbed “Zero Night” otherwise known as the worst evening in your life.

  
Bitty remembers getting off the plane in Texas at around 8pm (2000) and walking with Jack and a few other recruits he met on the ride down to one of the front desks. Plenty of others were already standing there in four lines.

  
Bitty approached them and began to ask what to do when they suddenly all gave him a stare that read: _Don't you dare._

  
“Goodness.” Bitty muttered.

  
“WHO IS TALKING? WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT TALKING?”

  
A short, very short blond woman emerged from the other side of the group. She wore the Air Force uniform, pixelated green camouflage and held a MTI campaign hat in her hand.

  
Bitty zipped himself shut and fell into one of the lines.

  
The rest of half hour went similar to that. Everyone in the group trying not to show how scared shitless they were of the awfully small woman as she maneuvered them around, eventually sending them off on a bus.

  
Bitty sat down in a seat next to someone he didn't know and didn't care to. He couldn't quite process what was happening. Was he going to the base now? He didn't even know how far it would be until he got there, how would he know how to get to his dorm?

  
Apparently that wasn't a problem. Twenty minutes into his bus ride, the driver had pulled onto the military base and to a large reception center. It was close to 2030, so it was getting dark out. Bitty makes one last “See y’all later! Love ya to pieces!” tweet as the bus halts to a creak and the driver stands up before opening the door.

  
“Listen, all I have to say is just to try your best while you are here, focus and most of all, just try to do what they say.”

  
Bitty didn't have time to process what the driver meant by that before a man in uniform walked unto the bus.

  
Bitty gulped as the Sergeant spoke, loudly, clearly, and with no compassion in his voice, “When I say go, you will grab everything, and get into two straight lines outside the doors.”

  
There was a pause. No voices were heard, no noises at all besides the slow breathing of the busload of terrified recruits.

  
“GO!”

  
Chaos fell, everyone tumbles over one another, attempting to get off the bus as fast as they could as the Sergeant yelled for them to hurry. Bitty, being so much smaller than most of the boys, thought he was going to get trampled on the way out, and nearly did.

  
By the time he was able to join one of the lines, the Sergeant was still screaming. Bitty could barely process what he was saying. Luckily, whoever was in the front if the line had figured it out and Bitty followed as the line began moving inside.

  
Bitty followed the people before without fail. He shadowed as the boy in front of him placed his folder, the one he was given so many hours ago back home, on a front table before speeding into a room and picked a chair.

  
Everything was moving so fast, Bitty had no idea what he was supposed to be doing, he could only hope he was in the right place. Another uniformed man stood in the front of room. Bitty looked around, everyone was sitting silently and seemed just as confused as him. Bitty took a moment to wonder if this would be the people he would be doing training with because there were a fair share of girls in the room as well.

  
Bittty’s attention was snatched back to the front of the room when a booming voice said, “If you have played an instrument in your past, stand up now. Don't try to lie and deny it either, we have your information, we know.”

  
With that, several people stood up. They were instructed to announce what instrument they played, how long they played it, and how long ago was the last time they played it. Bitty didn't stand up, because he knew he would not be useful for this cause, but he remained dumbfounded at some of the answered.

  
Some people would say silly things out of fear. Such as: “I played guitar, for two months, seven years ago.” Bitty got annoyed, and he could tell the men were too. They mostly chose the people who played band instruments, such as trumpet, or drums. They pulled those people aside and they left the group. Bitty couldn't help but to think of Sam in that moment. It’s only been a few hours but he already missed home.

  
That moment of reflection didn't last long. Within the minute, he was ordered to leave his carry on in his seat and follow the line of others to a different room.

  
Again, with little knowledge of what he was actually doing, he watched the person in front of him as he went into the room. There were carts of objects along the wall. There were Airmen at each box. Bitty was handed a black backpack, which he was confused about because he had brought his own bag with him. He walked around the room as he was handed objects, told to grab objects until he reached the end of the room and was told to get into another line.

  
The objects including such things as: soap, shampoo, razor, pens, flashlight, etc. Again, he was confused. Why were they handing these out right after he was told to bring them?

  
For the next half hour, the group went through everything, making sure all their items weren't broken and they had everything. Bitty was careful to do everything he was told exactly how he was told to do it. He cringed every time he heard someone get yelled for being confused or slow.

  
Eventually, he and the other were brought into the auditorium. Which looked something like a giant college classroom. There were Airmen in the front, sitting at a table, going through papers and folders as him and the new recruits sat in the chairs, silently.

  
Once he walked in, an Airmen handed him a box lunch. Bitty was curious why they were working if they weren't Sergeants. If you aren't of a high rank you aren't allowed to work with trainees, it’s a known rule. Then he realized. These are trainees. Why are they making them work here? Is that something he will have to do? He sat down and opened his box. He did not have an appetite right now. He settled on eating the Oreos and drinking the juice box. Who knew the next time he would have junk food.

  
He looked around, still curious about the trainees up front. They had on blue or orange armbands, what did that mean?

  
He didn't think he was going to get his answer. The Sergeants began walking by, demanding that people who are done eating to put their trash away and move to the back, to make room for the other recruits making their way in.

  
Bitty was more than finished so him and a few other did just that. There was about a couple dozen or so boys sitting on one side, and about 7 girls on the other side. As Bitty went to sit with the men, he noticed that girls looked miserable, as if they have been here for hours.

  
That’s when Bitty realized that they had.

  
Hours passed, Bitty was called to receive his paperwork, he sat back down. And he didn't get up for a very long time. They began calling out names, forming people in lines and taking them out of the building. Bitty waited impatiently until they called his name. People around him left, even one group of girls left. Bitty noticed the girl groups took a long time to leave, there were not as many of them coming in so they had to wait longer.

  
The numbers began dwindling down. Bitty was getting nervous, what if they never called him? What if they sent him back home?

  
It was four am. Bitty sat there, straining to keep his eyes open. There were only about 50 boys left in the room.

  
“Eric Bittle.”

  
Bitty’s head snapped up, “0376!”

  
He called out the last four of his Social Security Number, which was his new way of being identified as he had informed.

  
Bitty grabbed his things and got into the line of boys that was forming in front of the exit. He waited as more and more names were called. Each person joined the line of fearful and exhausted men. Starting with A-Anderson and ending with Z-

  
“Jack Zimmerman!”

  
“5102.”

  
Bitty didn't know what to think. Jack was in his group, he had barely seen him throughout the night. He keep losing him to the swarms of people around. Should he be happy for the familar face? Worried that it will be awkward? He decided not to think, the line was moving. He had to focused on what was in front of him.

  
Which was a bus. Another bus that took them only a few minutes away. He looked around, trying to familiarize himself. He saw the frightened faces of the other boys. He watched the window. It was quiet and dark.

  
They passed large buildings, they were brick built, and looked like a campus of a school he wouldn't mind going to. There was a track field in front of them, and he could hear and make out his fellow new folk under the over hangs of the buildings. That must be our dorms, he thought. They didn't look too bad.

  
He got confused why they weren't stopping. He was puzzled when they drove just a bit past that. And annoyed was the only word that could describe his feelings when the bus actually stopped.

  
This place did not look like the other dorms. This place looked like a floating garage.

  
The scene of getting off the bus repeated itself. Except worse. They were screamed at by a particularly angry man and woman as they were lead around the buildings, to a door on the side that lead straight to a stairwell.

  
Bitty and the other 50 boys rushed into the dorm. Dorm, by the way, is a loosely used term. There were two sides separated by a wall and a hallway. There were about 30 beds in each ‘bay’, making 60 beds in total. 15 of these beds were bunk beds.

  
The boys bomb rushed the beds, with the instructor screaming to pick one quickly.

  
“Once you have your bed, point at it and say the number outloud! Hurry up, this isn't hard!”

  
Bitty ran circles around his bed, which was luckily not a bunk bed, and was towards the very back of the furthest bay away from the door, until he found the number. He called out, “27!” But his own voice fell deaf as the other 50 boys screamed their number as well.

  
“Now go to your wall locker! Do the same thing! HURRY UP! LET’S GO ALREADY!”

  
He turned around. Oh come on.

  
The wall locker was over six feet tall, had one long, skinny side, and a fat side that consisted of 3 different sized drawers. It was like high school lockers all over again, except with more space.

  
He was so focused on what the locker looked like, he forgot the task. He looked to his right and the boy was pointing madly to the number on top of his own locker while looking Bitty in the eyes.

  
Bitty saw one of the instructors walking around the corner right as he was able to point his own number and yell, “27!”

  
The instructors took a lap around the bays as they made the trainees repeat the action a few more times. If they were making sure that Bitty wasn't going to forget his number, it was working.

  
After a few minutes, it was silent. The door opened and closed, and they were left with only the man.

  
As they stood by their lockers at the position of attention, which they made sure to teach them while they were standing there, the MTI gave them instructions.

  
“The time is now 0534.” He stated, “By 0545, each one of you will be showered, dressed, and in bed ready to sleep. Do you understand?”

  
...

  
“I said, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

  
“Yes, sir!” At least half of the boys who weren't to shocked to speak yelled.

  
“THEN LET’S GO! WHY AREN’T YOU MOVING?GET YOUR STUFF! LET’S GO, MOVE IT, LET’S GO!”

  
With that everyone scrambles, grabbing the soaps, towels, and shower shoes they were issued. They all run towards the door across the hall, where the restroom was.

  
Bitty was struggling. He needed to grab his underwear, his night clothes, which he couldn't find, and right as he was about to dig deep, he realized, he was one of the last people still in the bays.

  
Because, see, no was grabbing clothes to change with. They were all just running in with a towel around their waist, flip flops on their feet and soap in hand.

  
Bitty looked at his clock. He only had seven minutes left.

  
“WHERE IS YOUR SENSE OF URGENCY? LET'S GO!!!” The MTI was still screaming.

  
Bitty swore, “Dear lord,” and began stripping.

  
He ran into the restroom as a couple boys, soap still in hair, were running out.

  
How did they take a shower in less than a minute? That was simply not hygienic, he’ll have to have a talk later about proper self care with-

  
Oh.

  
Now he understood.

  
There were no stalls for the showers. There was only eight shower heads, in a open space.

  
For fifty boys.

  
There was nothing attractive about 50 boys trying to shower at once while someone is screaming outside the door.

  
Bitty tried to be as polite as possible. He set his things down on the bench to the side, folded his towel nicely, and took his hygienic items and started making his way towards the showers.

  
“Excuse me, sorry, my bad.” Bitty said, as he tried not to bump skin with anyone as he found a showerhead that only had three people under it.

  
One person who, as he was washing his hair kept repeating, “This is shit, what is this shit, you can't make people do this kind of shit.”

  
“THREE MINUTES AND EVERY PERSON IN THIS DORM BETTER BE IN A BED!”

  
“Shit!” The man said as he took a turn rinsing his hair then split.

  
Bitty moved faster than he ever thought he could. He didn't even have time to feel shy as he showered, got out and went to his bed, nearly slipping on the way.

  
He ended up putting the same clothes he had on before he crawled into bed right as the MTI shut out the lights.

  
Nothing followed besides the closing of the door and a sigh of relief.

  
Bitty settles in his bed, which is made up of a simple pillow with two gray blankets and a sheet.

  
He wants to cry, but he doesn't. He doesn't but he hears the sniffles of his new roommates around him.

  
He falls asleep to the repeating thought of, “What did I get myself into.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey I'm back! Kind of. I don't have a computer so this is getting posted on my phone, so apologies if it's not the best work, once I get my computer I should be able to revise! Until then, updates may be random until I officially get home in December. Thank you for sticking around!


	15. 1400

Time jumps with the passing of days. Thinking hard, he could tell you about a few of the moments. 

 

The earliest is the first meal. They woke up at 11am, which was a gift from god after falling asleep so late (early?). Once they got up, quickly dressed and brushed their teeth, they were shoved out of the dorms to eat chow. 

 

The MTI in charge today was the woman. There were no introductions either today, as she immediately had them form up on underneath the overhang once they got downstairs.  Bitty remembered how to form up. Four lines going down, everyone in each rank parallel to each other,  and if you are taller than the person in front of you, tap them on the shoulder and move to the front. Easy as pie.

 

Apparently, this wasn’t common sense to the rest of the boys. They had seemed to forget how to make straight lines since elementary school, and the MTI yelled until they were able to figure out. 

 

That’s when the group first heard commands. 

 

The MTI taught them the basics,  _ tench hut, left hace, right hace,  _ and  _ taller tap. _ All these were just so they could get in a formal formation. 

 

Although he knew this would happen, Bitty was a bit annoyed that once the taller tapped, he was promptly sent to the back of the formation, as he was one of the shortest in the group. 

 

After they were formed up, the MTI started asking for volunteers to have jobs. She said that it was best to volunteer now before she started picking people. 

 

Bitty didn’t raise his hand, no, he was smarter than that. He told himself he would only volunteer for things in which it was explained what he was going to do. Not something random. 

 

In the end, she ended up having eight people standing in front of her, some who volunteered and some who got chosen. 

 

Randomly, she pointed at them and said, “Fire monitor, fire monitor, water monitor, water monitor, water monitor, water monitor, and you two, are my chow runners.” 

 

Bitty thanked the stars he wasn’t in that group. If he knew anything about Basic, is that chow runner was a job no soul wanted. 

 

As the MTI explained the jobs to the trainees, Bitty stood silently, surveying who was doing the jobs. It wasn’t anyone he knew, obviously. He didn’t know anyone right now. Well. That wasn’t true. 

 

Jack stood at the front of the element (line) Bitty was in. It made sense, of course, since he was so damn tall. 

 

Although Bitty wasn’t sure how he felt about Jack being in his flight, he hardly had the time to care. Within a few minutes, the chow runners returned from reporting the flight to the MTI insides, and the elements started getting called into the dining facility one-by-one. Bitty was in the first element, which by some reason meant he was called in last. 

 

By the look on the chow runner’s face, Bitty was less than excited to go in. 

  
  
  


Speaking in hindsight, Bitty should’ve eaten. 

 

The chow hall was a mad rush. It was get-in, get your food and get out. The ‘digesting’ part wasn’t even a step in that process. There were MTIs screaming at everyone, for everything. Bitty didn’t realize how easily you could mess up eating. 

 

Bitty was able to keep his head low enough, and follow what the boys in front of him were doing. You go to the line, sign your name in, then line up on the wall until “Three Trainees Post” is called, then by which you are able to go to the line and get your food. 

 

While in the line, you must keep your hands flat on the tray, and sidestep all the way down. Until you get out of the line, have received all your food and the drinks that are being provided by the water monitors, then go to the chow runner, who is standing in front of one of the rows of tables. 

 

You approach the chow runner who will say ‘Front, sir’ or ‘Back, sir’. Following you saying, ‘Thank you, sir’, you will go to whichever side he told you, either behind or in front of him, and go down the line to the next available seat. 

 

All of this leads to you eating with you head down and feet together underneath the table. 

 

Bitty had no idea how he was going to remember all this without getting screamed at each day. Maybe he would just never eat again. 

 

When Bitty got out of the hell hole, he noticed the rest of his flight formed up like before. He goes to stand in his spot in the back, he sees someone sitting on the ground behind the flight. 

 

It’s one of the chow runners, he’s sitting with his face between his knees. Bitty approaches him, kneeling down and resting a hand on his shoulder. 

 

“Hey, are you okay?” Bitty asked. 

 

The boy shakes his head, “I can’t. I can’t do this.”

 

“It was your first time, you’ll get better at it.” Bitty protested, “What your name?”

 

“Justin, err, Oluransi.” 

 

“Okay, just breathe with me Oluransi.” Bitty tried. 

 

A tall, blonde man came by. Bitty remembered him as being one of the water monitors. He said, “What’s going on? Ransom, you okay?”

 

‘Ransom’ shook his head, “I can’t be chow runner. I can’t. I didn’t even eat today. I don’t know how I’m gonna do it, Holster.”

 

Holster kneeled down, “Are you sure? You’ll get used to it.”

 

Ransom sobbed, “No, no, I won’t.”

 

Holster sighed, “Okay. Come on, we need to get back in line before the instructor sees. We'll figure this out later.”

 

Later that day, the group was sitting in the dayroom. The dayroom was the ‘living room’ of the dorm. They had a TV, but it wasn’t plugged in. They had a couch, but they weren’t allowed to sit it in. 

 

They were sitting on the floor, they were all exhausted. After they ate, they walked, er, marched to ‘clothing issue’, where they were given their uniforms. Bitty tried his best to be excited. He was finally getting his ABUs (Airman Battle Uniform), he felt like a real member wearing them now. Sadly, it was a long, tiring process and the lack of sleep was getting to him. 

 

And since they were still in zero week, they were only allowed to wear their combat boots for half the day, to stop from hurting their feet too much. Bitty was thankful for this. Those boots were heavy, and he probably had the smallest size of the bunch. And he wasn’t sure if pale green was his color. 

 

The worst part of his day was right before they got their uniforms, they got their haircuts. There was no salon, no shampoo massage, they were thrown in a chair and brutally shaved. Some boys came out bleeding. He swore to god one boy came out crying. This was the same boy who cried when he had to shave his mustache off this morning. Then again, those locks of his were beautiful and should be rightfully mourned. 

 

Bitty just felt...empty. By no means was he a beauty queen, but he was fond of his hair and his individuality. Now he and 50 other boys had the same buzzcut. 

 

Once the MTI, now the male instructor, walked into the dayroom, everyone stood up at attention and said their reporting statement, something they told one of the element leaders to do beforehand. The new customs would be hard to adapt to. Was he supposed to stand up when anyone walked into the room now? That seemed like a strange sign of respect. This wasn’t the Queen of England or something. 

 

The MTI, clipboard in hand, sat at the desk and introduced himself. His name was Technical Sergeant Kilwin. His was 34 years old, and had been an MTI for the last year. 

 

At the end of each day, they would have ‘Airman’s Time’ in this room. Where they talk about how they were doing, and what was next. Tomorrow they would have inprocessing and immunizations. Right now, they needed to assign jobs. 

 

“Stand up if you had a job at chow today.”

 

Eight people stood up. 

 

“Okay,” TSgt Kilwin said, “Who were the chow runners?”

 

Two people rose their hand. 

 

Neither of which were Ransom. 

 

“Names?”

 

“Brown.” The first chow runner said. 

 

“Holster.”

 

Everyone in the flight knew this was wrong, but no one said anything and TSgt Kilwin went down the line. Ransom had taken Holster’s job as water monitor. The two were sitting next to each other and had been so whenever they could all day. They slept next to each other as well, right next to Bitty. He wondered if they knew each other beforehand, as some did. Bitty wished he had someone he was close to right know. 

 

Looking across the room, Bitty kept forgetting he did. 

 

Bitty had been hearing from Jack all day. Sometimes he would come in and say something to the group, always beginning with ‘The MTI told me to tell you’. Bitty wondered why the MTIs were only talking to a few people. 

 

TSgt Kilwin started asking about some new jobs, some jobs in the dorms. He asked for volunteers, and sometimes Bitty raised his hand. For things like ‘Dayroom Chief’ whose only job was to sweep the dayroom. That Bitty could do. 

 

But he didn’t get a job. Not until TSgt Kilwin asked, “Who is the smallest guy in the room? I need someone pretty short for this job.”

 

All eyes look around until they end up landing on Bitty. 

 

TSgt Kilwin smiled, “Looks like you are going to be the Roach.”

  
“Excuse me?”


	16. 1500

The job of the roach was anything but pleasant. It was dehumanizing and downright disgusting. No one should be treated this way. 

Bitty thought all these things and more as he slid underneath the beds on his stomach with a towel on a stick, picking up all the dust on the ground. 

The term ‘roach’ was fitting. 

Each and every morning and most nights, they did details, which was cleaning the dorm. They’ve been told that they have daily dorm inspections, where the MTIs will walk around and make sure everything was clean. By ‘clean’, they meant ‘flawless’.

Four days in, and they were already learning that flawless was basically unachievable. And now that everyone had a job, they were very protective of keeping everything perfect. No one wanted a failed inspection to be their fault. 

“WATCH THE CHROME!” The hallway chief, a young, twenty-something Hispanic boy yelled as someone walked on the metal part of the doorway he was trying to polish. 

“WHO LEFT THEIR NASTY TOOTHBRUSH ON THE SINK!” That was the latrine chief. Bitty recognized his voice. This was the guy who almost cried when he got his hair shaved, “COME GET IT IN FIVE SECONDS OR IT’S GOING IN THE TRASH!”

“THE FIRE MONITORS ALREADY TOOK THE TRASH OUT!” Someone else yelled, “JUST PUT IT IN YOUR SECURITY DRAWER, WE’LL FIGURE IT OUT LATER.”

“I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THAT I HAVE TO CLEAN YOUR SHIT STAINS OUT OF THE TOILETS.” He retorted. 

The boys who were in charge of the utility closet (where everything meant for cleaning was stored and had to be displayed to perfection) shouted back, “WE NEED EVERYTHING BACK IN THE CLOSET IN TEN MINUTES.” 

Bitty scrambled. That meant his things too. He moved himself faster, army crawling under the beds. At least by the end of this he would have some muscles. 

Once he got to the end of the line of beds, he quickly got to his feet and began making his way to the utility closet. 

“Here,” he handed them the stick and the towel. 

“It’s dirty, where are we supposed to put it?” One of the boys asked him. 

“I don’t know?” Bitty shrugged, “Is there a place for it?”

The boy flipped through the dorm guide that they were all given, which said exactly where and how everything was supposed to go, “I don’t know, it doesn’t say anything.”

“Ask laundry crew,” Bitty said, “I have to go fix all the shoes.”

“Where are the shoe aligners?” 

“I don’t know!” Bitty groaned. 

All of the shoes, their second pair of combat boots and sneakers, had to be placed perfectly in line underneath the beds. Now that Bitty had just gone by and cleaned underneath the beds, they were a mess. 

The trainee went down his bay, trying to fix all the shoes and put them in place. He worked fast, but not fast enough. 

“LADY ENTERING THE DORMITORY!” 

Everyone else repeated this in unison. Now that they have been here for a few days, they had Entry Controllers watching the door. They were in charge of letting people in and out. And doing it exactly the way they were supposed to. 

Oh no. 

Bitty quiets and focuses on positioning the shoes, in the best of his ability, trying to blend in as the MTI screams in the background. 

The Entry Controller messed up. 

“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING? THIS IS YOUR JOB, HOW ARE YOU MESSING IT UP SO BADLY? THE BOOK IS RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU.”

She paused for a moment and began walking around the dorms, everyone trying to quickly finish what they were doing. She walked past Bitty, still staring at the ground, then walked into her office. 

“Bittle!” She yelled before she got through the door. 

Bitty stands up at attention and spews out, “Ma’am, Trainee Bittle reports as ordered!”

“Go get the dorm chief.” 

“Yes, ma’am!” Bittle stopped everything he was doing and began running around the bays, until he finally found the dorm chief, the head of the dorm. 

“Hey! The Sergeant needs you.” Bitty said, “Right now.”

The dorm chief, looking terrified, nodded and followed after Bitty. 

“You know what about?” He asked. 

“Probably nothing good.” Bitty replied. 

The dorm chief stopped before he got to the door, then he marched to the doorway, did a left face, and positioned himself in the middle, “Ma’am, Trainee-”

“Nope, do that facing movement again.”

He took a step back and repeated the reporting process. 

“Ma’am, Trainee Wicks reports as ordered.” 

“Better, come in, you too, Bittle.” She said, and the two of them stand at ease as she talks. 

She tells Wicks the schedule for today, and Bitty tries to remember it as well, since it’s a lot to take in. He felt bad for Wicks. He’s been through a lot within the last few days. 

She ends the conversation with, “And you better tell that EC Monitor that if he messes up again, I’m finding someone else. It’s his job to teach everyone else how to do the procedures, if he can’t do them himself, there’s going to be a problem.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay, finish the dorm setup, have everyone ready and on the wall in ten.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She dismisses them and they walk out of the office. 

“You good?” Bitty asked Wicks. 

Wicks shook his head, “I’m not cut out for this. I need to find a way out of this job.”

“I’m with you there.” 

“I wish we could pull something that Ransom and Holster did. That was smooth.” Wicks commented. 

“Yeah, but we have to get moving soon.”

“Oh yeah-WE HAVE TEN MINUTES GET ON THE WALL LET’S GO!” Wicks began shouting. 

There was a lot of yelling in Basic, and only some of it was from the MTI.

 

That day they went to the processing building and got their paperwork done-just some simple things, and an annoying, long process. They went out to the drill pad and did some marching practice as well, other than that, the day went by slow and boring. 

Until, after dinner. 

They had all more than relaxed after the boring day, and they were finishing up nightly details, trying to figure a better way to do things. 

Bitty was aligning shoes in the first bay when knock on the door was heard.

“Sir, may I help you?” Bitty heard one of the ECs say, starting the run-down. 

He winced when they began to stutter while speaking. The MTI at the door began to get mad. 

“Checking one common-one white common access card f-for Technical Sergeant P-Perry.”

Technical Sergeant Perry? They have never met that one before. 

The MTI began kicking the door, screaming, “LET ME IN!” which only scared the Entry Controller more. 

Bitty listened as the EC asked the other EC for help, who happened to be the EC Monitor. 

“I-I don’t know what to do?” 

Bitty stood up and looked over, asking, “What’s the problem?”

The EC Monitor whispered to him, “He’s not on the list, do we let him in?”

The MTI began screaming, “YOU BETTER LET ME IN RIGHT NOW OR YOU ALL ARE GOING TO GET RECYCLED.” 

“Just let him in!” The Monitor said. 

Bitty stood up, “No! Don’t!” 

He was too late and the door was opened. 

The MTI came in and began going off on the EC Monitor a hundred miles per hour. 

“WHY DID YOU JUST LET ME IN? WHY DID YOU JUST LET ME IN? I COULD’VE BEEN A STRANGER WITH A GUN AND YOU JUST KILLED YOUR ENTIRE FLIGHT! WHERE IS THE EC MONITOR?”

“I am, sir.”

“OH SO NOT ONLY DO YOU NOT KNOW YOUR JOB, YOU DON’T KNOW HOW TO GIVE A PROPER REPORTING STATEMENT…”

That lasted for a few minutes, Bitty listening in, too scared to move out of his position. After the MTI ripped the Monitor apart, he moved on and began destroying the rest of the dorm. Asking them questions about rank and chain of command, no one giving the right answers. 

Then he called the dorm chief. 

Wicks walked up. And answers some questions wrong. Then, the MTI asked to see his wall locker, to see if it was properly done. 

It was not. 

“Oh and what’s this?” The MTI picked up a lock on the bed, “Why wasn’t your security drawer locked, huh? THIS IS A SECURITY VIOLATION. YOU ARE THE DORM CHIEF AND YOU CAN’T EVEN MANAGE TO LOCK YOUR LOCKER.”

That went on for a while. Bitty had already snuck away and gone to his bed, avoiding eye contact and making himself small and invisible. 

When he left, you could see the sigh of relief fall across the room. 

“What a dick.” commented their latrine chief, who they had took to calling ‘Shitty’.

 

The next day, they saw the effects of the MTI’s visit. 

Wicks and the EC Monitor were both called into the office. They both left with mixed expressions. No one bothered to ask what happened. They already knew. 

What they were unsure of what happened when two more names were called in. 

The previous EC Monitor went up to Bitty, “Hey, he want to see you.”

Bittle gulped but followed instructions. 

He walked around the dorm until he got to the office, and was surprised when he was face-to-face with Jack Zimmermann. 

He had been in-actively avoiding him since day one. He hadn’t meant to be. Jack was an Element Leader while Bitty was a roach. They weren’t close in height, so there was no real reason for them to talk to one another. 

But they both stood at attention in TSgt Kilwin’s office, with their female MTI, TSgt Redson sitting in as well. 

“Okay, Bittle and Zimmermann, right?”

“Yes, sir,” They both replied. 

TSgt Kilwin nodded, “Alright, first of all, Bittle, you’re going to be my new EC Monitor. I expect you know what the job consists of?” 

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, I’ll need you to make a new schedule since this one is...unsatisfactory. And Zimmermann, you are dorm chief now. I’m expecting a lot from you, so don’t let me down. Tomorrow is Sunday and TSgt Redson and I are making a list of things you need to get done. Some people from older flights will be down to take you to services so I need you to get a list of everyone who wants to go to a service. Also, I’m leaving it up to you to make sure beds are moved. I’ll have a list of who goes where on my desk tomorrow, but TSgt Redson will be here in the afternoon. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” 

“But tonight, you need to move yours and Bittle’s bed. Bittle, you will be the first bed in the first bay. Since you’re EC Monitor, you need to always be close to the door. Zimmermann, you’ll be in the bed right beside his.”

With that, they were dismissed. 

Wicks and the former Monitor already got the memo and were packing their things. Bittle and Jack went to their beds to do the same. 

“So, dorm chief, huh?” Bitty attempted to make conversation. 

“Yeah,” Jack turned to Bitty, “EC Monitor, that’s a big job.”

“I can handle it.” 

“I know you can. I know I have my Element Leaders, but after them, it’s you. I’m going to be looking to you a lot. I’m glad I’ll have you in a position like this. I think we’re gonna do great.”

Any shred of doubt about his crush on Jack flew out the window at that point. And now he was going to be sleeping right next to him. 

Oh lord.


	17. 1600

 

Sundays were the days of saints for sure. Since it was there first Sunday, the MTI was still around, but it was a very laid back day. A lot of people went to services, whether it was Christian, Islamic, Jewish, there was a service for everything at BMT, and anyone could go. Many people who weren’t religious went as well, if just to get out for a hour or two and feel like a human. Bitty debated going, but thought to go another week. His area was a mess from moving so suddenly, he needed the free day to organize. 

 

The Sergeant didn’t do much that day besides teach the few people there about laundry marks. Which is what they marked their clothes with to be able to see who’s is who’s. Bitty was happy he was there to get the head start. 

 

At nine, everyone who was going to a service was gone. It ended up only having five people in the dorm. Which was astounding. TSgt Redson had left for the while, so it was quiet and peaceful. Bitty was able to breathe for the first time in a while. 

 

The only problem was that entry controllers still had to guard the door, even on Sundays. So the five of them ended up having to switch on and off for the while. 

 

Bitty was off for the moment. He had pulled up his chair to his bed (they weren’t allowed to sit on their beds during the day) and currently was attempting to fold his towel, trying his best to get it perfectly right. Why did folding have to be so complicated?

 

“Hey, it’s Bittle, right?” He heard someone above him say. He looked up and it was one of the ECs, the person who ran the latrine to be exact. 

 

“Yeah, and you are?”

 

“Knight. But people call me Shitty too.”

 

“You are really going with that?” Bitty grinned. 

 

Shitty shrugged, “Sure, why not. A name’s a name, isn’t it? A nickname is more fun, do you have one?”

 

“Sometimes people call me Bitty?” 

 

“Perfect,” Shitty turned to Holster, who was the other person on EC, “So we have Holster, Ransom, Bitty,” he pointed at himself, “I’m Shitty, now we just need a name for good old chief over here.” 

 

Jack was at his wall locker, rolling a sand t-shirt somehow perfectly. Although Jack seemed friendlier, they haven’t made much conversation. It wasn’t awkward, they were just enjoying the silence. 

 

“What will we call you?” Shitty pondered, “Zimms? Zimboni? Chief Z? Z-Izzle?”

 

“You can just call me Jack,” He said with a perfect smile. 

 

Shitty groaned, “That’s not  _ cool.  _ I’ll figure it out. I have another hour and a half on shift, I’ll figure it out. And once I do, there we go. Our group can be solidified.” 

 

“Our group?” Bitty asked. 

 

“Yeah, man,” Shitty responded, “I don’t mean that we are going to form a clique here, but listen, guys. This is all a game. People are gonna start dropping like flies, we’ve already lost two guys this week. We are going to need people, and not everyone here is gonna get along. I-we-need people who we know is going to be on our side no matter what. And I think this little Sunday group may be the perfect squad.”

 

Jack rubbed the back of his head, “That sounds nice, but I’m the dorm chief. I can’t really pick favorites.”

 

“I’m not saying we only stay with each other, there are plenty of others around here. I’m just saying that if we need anyone, we can look to each other. Confide in each other. Help each other out. You know, wingman system and all that. Just think about it, alright?”

 

In the end, that’s exactly what happened. They made some kind of pact that if they needed anything, they would always have their arms open for each other. Even though they hardly knew one another.

 

They didn’t realize how often they would need to rely on someone. It happened when Bitty was on EC (and he was always on EC) when they were showering and he needed someone to move faster so he would have time. It helped when Jack needed a support group to justify the hard decisions he had to make as dorm chief. When Shitty needed extra hands in the bathroom to do some nasty cleaning before the inspection. Or when someone needed a running buddy or a wingman to go with them to an appointment. 

  
  
  


The next two weeks went in a flash. Classes were the main event, talk about death by powerpoint. They began to get the hang of it. Jack was still going strong, although his job was on the line, he was always able to get the flight back on their feet. Bitty was the best at his job, and he made sure of it. 

 

It was the second day of the third week. They had been there for three weeks already, the time seemed to be flying by. 

 

This week was important. This was the week they would get their nametapes. The stitching of their last name and ‘U.S. AIR FORCE’ over their heart. It may been a small thing, but to a Trainee in BMT? This was them making it. They were so close. 

 

They did say that after the third week passed, it was smooth sailing from there. 

 

That Tuesday was close to hell on earth. They were getting fitting for their Blues, the service dress uniform. If you want to know what it looks like, just think of a humanoid Smurf flight attendant.

 

Or, you know, google it. 

 

Anyway, they had to try clothing on, get it fitted, try something else on, get that fitted, over and over and over again. Everything had to be fitted perfectly. Bitty, the poor soul, was smaller than the rest of the boys and so had to go to extra lengths to find clothes that fit him. While the rest of the flight had moved on to shirts, he was still on pants. 

 

In the end, it was worth it. Just seeing his name on his uniform, feeling that he finally was apart of something bigger. That he finally made it. 

 

It was great to see the other boys wearing their uniform with pride. It was no longer taking away their individuality, it was bestowing it upon them. 

 

In that day, it truly felt like smooth sailing from there. 

  
It gets better, right? 


End file.
